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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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Chap. Copyright No.._,W__£ 

Shelt__<£^ 2 " 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 







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Sterling Dialogues 



A choice collection of original Dialogues suitable for 

Day Schools, Sunday Schools, Lyceums, 

Anniversaries, Holidays, etc* 



Compiled by 

WILLIAM M. CLARK 



Philadelphia 

The Penn Publishing Company 

J898 












Ill 



Copyright 1898, 'by The Penn Publishing Company 







TWO C 1CEIVED. 



2n;- 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Old He ids on Young Shoulders . Mrs. Louise E. V. Boyd . 5 

Just from the City II. Elliott McBride ... 13 

Trusty and True Mrs. Clara A. Sylvester . 20 

Unappreciated Genius Millie M. Olcott 28 

The Discontented Girls .... Mrs. J. E. McConaughy . 34 

Colorado — Acting Charade . . . Millie M. Olcott 35 

A Pair of Lions Harry II. Cashing ... 37 

The Conjugating German . . . Vale Chester 48 

Where there's a Will there's a 

Way — Dramatic Proverb . . . Sophie May 50 

Other People's Children .... Mrs. E. II. A 58 

Good Maxims 62 

The Floral Guide— A Tableau . Millie M. Olcott G3 

The Three Wishes Edward Traill Horn . . 04 

Turn About' s Fair Play .... Hattie Herbert 67 

Frightened at Nothing 74 

Boarding 'Round. Phila II. Case 78 

-Alice's Party Eliza DoolMe 82 

Who's the Poet? Kate Woodland 86 

I Guess I'm the Man Laura S. Parsons .... 90 

Mischief— Dramatic Charade . . T. A. E. Holcomb ... 92 

Uncle Deal's Lecture Alice A. Coale 100 

The Fairy Queen's Decision . . Mrs. Louise E. V. Boyd . 104 

The Second Prize H. Elliott McBride . . 107 

3 



4 CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Washington's Vision — Tableau . Amanda P. Selkrig . . . H3 

Curing an Invalid 115 

Little Folks' Opinions H. Elliott McBride . . 119 

The Doctor's Choice Alice M. Ball 121 

The Unwelcome Guest H. Elliott McBride . . . 12C 

Not What he Wanted J. D. Vinton ... ... 131 

Saved— Dialogue and Tableau 139 

Two Ways op Telling the Same 

Thing Mrs. E. B. Duffey . . . 145 

Aunt Debby's Speculation . . . Mrs. J. E. McConaughy . 152 

Illinois — Acting Charade 102 

The Young Debaters H. Elliott McBride . . . 163 

The Two Dolls . Mrs. Louise E. V. Boyd . 170 

The Census Taker Millie M. Olcott 173 

The Returned Brother H. Elliott McBride . . .179 

After a Fashion Mrs. E. B. Duffey . . . 183 

A Frightened Lodger 188 



STERLING DIALOGUES 



OLD HEADS ON YOUNG SHOULDERS. 

CHARACTERS :— Mrs. Grimshaw, fussy old Lady. 
Polly, her Step-daughter. 
Joe, Polly's Brother. 
Fannie, Polly's Cousin. 
Elihu Goahead, foppish old Gentleman. 



Scene.— Mrs. Grimshaw, in cap and spectacles, and a letter in 
her hand, which she opens and reads with much apparent satis- 
faction. 

Mrs. Grimshaw— (Calk)— Polly! Polly! 

Enter Polly, looking much frightened. 

Polly — Well, ma'am ! ( Going to sit down.) 

Mrs.' Grimshaw — Don't sit down till I give you per- 
mission. How pert you are ! 

Polly — I didn't mean to be. Do you want me? 

Mrs. Grimshaw — Yes, I do want you ; I want you 
particularly ; I want you on this occasion to give me your 
undivided attention ; I want you to be serious ) I want to 
confide to you a subject of the greatest importance : and 
now you may sit down. (Polly, sitting down, bursts into 
a little laugh, but tries to conceal it by turning it into a 
cough.) Why, what a cough you have to-day ! You 
must bathe your feet, and take some red pepper tea, and 
put a piece of red flannel around your throat, and wear 
your night-cap; it is just perversity in you not to wear a 
night-cap — every discreet young lady does wear a night- 
cap ; they are very becoming, too, and the broader the 



6 STERLING DIALOGUES 

frill the better they look. (Polly again laughs, but 
ends by coughing.*) Oh, what a cough ! It must be 
attended to. But now we will proceed to business. Sit 
up straight ; fold your hands ; your hair is not as smooth 
as it should be, your collar is a little crooked. Let me 
see your shoes ; nothing speaks as well for a young lady's 
neatness as for her shoes to be neatly laced. Polly, 
here is a letter from my respected friend, Mr. Elihu Goa- 
head of Goaheadville. He's as rich as a lord, and a 
great catch, I assure you. Yes, Polly, you might search 
through the world's lotteries a long while before you could 
draw such another prize as Mr. Elihu Goahead. 

Polly — Ha! ha! ha! Oh, what a name! what a 
name! 

Mrs. Grimshaw — What a name ! Indeed it 's a very 
good name. 

Polly — (Still laughing) — It is too funny for anything ! 

Mrs. Grimshaw — Stop your laughing, you frivolous 
simpleton. I wont have it. Have you no propriety at 
all ? My mother never laughed herself, and never 'allowed 
her children to, and they rewarded her care by being 
very proper people, very indeed. Ah ! dear me, what my 
trials are since I became your step-mother. Just to think 
of a girl of sixteen laughing right in my face at the name 
of my friend. People can't help their names. Suppose 
your name was Polly Pickle, I guess you couldn't help 
that. 

Polly — (Again laughing) — No, I couldn't help it, but 
I'd laugh at it. Polly Pickle! I'd die laughing at that. 
Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Mrs. Grimshaw — Hush ! hush ! listen tome. (0}» n- 
ing the letter, adjusting her glasses, and looking at Tolly 
"•//A a severe expression.) Here, now, is a chance for you. 
This old gentleman — 



STERLING DIALOGUES 7 

Polly— Old ! Is he old ? 

Mrs. Grimshaw — He's not a boy, nor a flirt, nor a 
scamp, nor a fop such as you would pick, but he is my 
friend, respectable and responsible, Mr. Elihu Goahead. 

Polly — (Slowly) — Mister I-like-you Go-a-head ! 

Mrs. Grimshaw — Polly, this is wasting time. At one 
o'clock my old friend — 

Polly — (In an undertone) — Old ! old ! 

Mrs. Grimshaw — He will be here, and I will have a 
splendid dinner — turkey, oysters, coffee, cakes. If you 
don't receive Mr. Goahead as you should, you will lose 
not only the offer of his heart and hand, but all the good 
things : for remember, I will send you to your own room 
and there serve you with nothing but bread and water, 
until you learn to be something less of a child, something 
less of a torn-boy, I may say, for a tom-boy you are, and it 
all comes of your intimacy with your hopeful cousin 
Fanny ; understand that hereafter my doors will not be 
open to her, and you sha' n't visit her, and I '11 send your 
brother Joe off to school. Yes, I'll revolutionize this 
whole concern. Your father says it 's no use to try to put 
old heads on young shoulders ; but I '11 show him I can 
do even that! (She flings the letter into Polly's lap, who 
reads it over, while Mrs. Grimshaw arrays herself in bon- 
net, shawl and gloves.) Polly, I will now start for the 
railway station. Do you go and dress yourself neatly, 
and be ready to receive Mr. Goahead ; and when you are 
established in his fine house you will thank me for all 
this. Be discreet for once, Polly, do be discreet for once. 

Polly— Oh, to be — ha ! ha ! Oh, to be sure — ha ! 
ha! ha! 

[As the old lady turns around threateningly, the laugh 
becomes a cough.'] 

Mrs. Grimshaw — Polly, I go now ; remember what I 



8 STERLING DIALOGUES 

say. You may be Mrs. Elihu Goahead if you will, or 
you may find yourself living on bread and water in your 
own room, while turkey, and oysters, and coffee, and 
pleasant society will be the order of the day. You must 
try to have an old head on young shoulders. [Exit. 

Enter Fanny, ivith a great bound, her hat flung bach on 
her shoulders, hair in disorder, and without hoops. 

Fanny — So old Grim's gone, has she? I dodged her 
nicely, came in the back door as she went out of the front ; 
but what have we here ? 

Polly — Fanny, Fanny, I wish I was nobody. She has 
gone, but she will be back, and you must go away. She 
says you sha'n't come here any more. 

Fanny — ( Throwing off her hat) — But I will. This is 
my uncle's house, and you are my own cousin. Let's 
have some fun. Where 's Joe ? Come, brighten up. 

Polly — Fan, look here; look at this letter. She's 
gone now to meet this friend of hers. 

Fanny — (Glancing at the letter) — For ever and ever! 
This is fine ! Mr. Elihu Goahead, his name is spelled to 
a T, for it should be goat-head. A precious old hunks 
he must be. Is he rich ? 

Polly — Rich as a Jew, and stupendously proper. I 
hate him. 

Fanny — When did you see him? and why do you 
hate him ? 

Polly — I never saw him ; I never want to. 

Fanny — Now, don't sigh or groan, or I'll leave. Just 
draw him on, and make fun of him. / would; I wish 
IM hall" your chance for fun. I'd load old Grim. A 
dance would do her good. 1 M take the starch out of her. 
Lei 's have some fun ; there comes Joe. Joe, here; dor, 
come in and lot us have a real high time! Polly is as 
solemn as a tombstone, all because she is to have a rich 



STERLING DIALOGUES 9 

beau, a lordly, grand old soul, beautiful as the day, for 
all we know. 

Enter Joe, his coat badly torn. 

Polly — O Joe, what will our ma say to that coat? 
how did you tear it so ? 

Joe — Easy enough. I saw the old sweety coming down 
street, and thought it time to scatter off; so I took to tho 
fence, and there my coat ketched, and I could just hardly 
get away before she saw me. 

Fanny — Fol de rol ! who cares for a coat ? I say, let 
us start a good romp and shake the cobwebs out of Polly's 
brain. Oh, we have a new play, Joe and I, such a good 
new play ! Polly, come on, take it easy ; every body has 
to have beaux some time. Don't fret though, Polly, till 
he is really here, and no help for it. Who knows ? maybe 
the cars will run off the track or something else turn up. 

Joe — Come, Polly, this is a new play. Oh, first rate ! 
Here are some strings. Fanny, tie her hands behind her, 
and now we'll just show her what fun is! (Producing 
strong cord, they tie Polly's hands behind her, all laugh- 
ing in great glee. Joe looks old and says :) My gracious, 
who'd 'a thought it ? Dear ! oh, dear ! 

Polly — What is it, Joe ? 

Joe — The old lady and — and an old fellow along with 
her. This is a jolly go ! 

Polly — Undo my hands ! 

Fanny — (Trying hard to untie the knots) — I can not, 
to save my life, loosen this ! 

Polly — Oh, I 'm undone, I 'm undone ! 

Joe — No, you 're not, by a good deal ! 

Fanny — {Rummaging a ivorJe-baskei) — The scissors, the 
scissors, they're not here. 

Polly — Joe, your knife, your knife, quick. 



10 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Joe — ( Carelessly) — I traded it for a quart of chestnuts. 

Polly — {Angrily) — Are you both possessed? Get 
me loose, I say ! I wont put up with this ! Joe, I '11 
tell ma ! 

Joe — Ha ! ha ! ha ! Never saw such fun in all my 
life. Girls in a scrape, and don't know how to get out. 
Our lady ma will quite forget my torn coat, when she 
sees Poll's predicament. (Sings :) 

Hey, Polly, don't you feel jolly? 
Don't you feel jolly, pretty Polly? 

[Fanny, flying at Joe, boxes his ears, and turns him 
out ; he holes in once more to say :] 

Joe — They're inside the gate; I wish you a happy 
time of it. 

Fanny — (Soothingly) — Polly dear, don't fret. I'll 
make this all right. I was n't born in the woods to be 
scared by an owl. Trust me; now, here. (Thrusting her 
hands through Polly's arms.) See, there's nothing like 
a little strategy. How fortunate that I have no hoops 
on. You talk now, I will do the gestures, and get you 
through. There they are ; be calm and cool ; I am. 

Mrs. Grimshaw — (Bringing Mr. Goahead forward) 
— Mr. Goahead, allow me the pleasure of presenting to 
you my daughter Polly. She is, I must assure you, Mr. 
Goahead, a very discreet young person. Indeed, I might 
say that with her I have succeeded in putting an old 
head on young shoulders. 

Mr. Goahead — (Approaching, shakes hands) — Miss 
Polly, I am glad to see you, and you haw (SHU holding 
her hand), you have a very beautiful small hand. I love 
a small hand. (Takes a rose from his button-hole.) Here, 
Miss Polly, accept this little tribute to beauty, inhale ite 
fragrance, and tell me if you are not an admirer of nature. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 11 

[Here Mrs. Grimshaw gives Mr. Goahead a chair, 
and pushes one toward Polly, who seats herself in 
Fanny's lap on if] 
Polly — (Smelling the rose) — I am an enthusiastic ad- 
mirer of nature, Mr. Goahead. The flowers at my feet, the 
stars in the blue heavens above, the far-off hills, these near 
streams hurrying on to the ocean, all, all enchant me! 
[During this speech, Fanny is profuse in gestures.'] 
Mr. Goahead — Upon my word, you are quite eloquent. 
I love eloquence. Time would pass swiftly with you, 
miss ; but let me see, what time it is ? ( Takes out his 
ivatch.) My watch has stopped. What time have you, 
Miss Polly ? 

Polly — (As the hands take out her ivatch) — Half 
past two ! 

[Puts the ivatch back, takes her handkerchief from her 

pocket and wipes her mouth, bursting into a little 

laugh, which turns to a cough.] 

Mrs. Grimshaw — (Stamping) — Polly, something must 

be done for that cough. You had better take some pepper 

tea, and eat nothing. 

[Joe is now seen behind Mr. Goahead and Mrs. 

Grimshaw, with a large butcher-knife in his hand, 

making signs as if to cut off the old gentleman's 

head, which increases Polly's cough, and Mrs. 

Grimshaw, growing uneasy, steps forward and 

calls to the cook to hurry dinner ; and standing in. 

the doorway, seems to give many directions. Mr. 

Goahead has taken up a magazine, and turning 

the leaves, asks:] 

Mr. Goahead — Miss Polly, here are a number of 

bridal costumes given ; now tell me how you think a bride 

should be dressed. 

Polly — In white, pure white, with a double skirt; and 
the orange blossom wreaths should be not only on the 
brow, but all about the flounces ; and the slippers of satin ; 



12 STERLING DIALOGUES 

and the veil floating around the form, should be of the 
finest lace ; and a costly brooch of pearls should rest 
above the heart. (Many gestures.) 

Mr. Goahead — The picture is heavenly ; yes, too hea- 
venly ! Oh, how I long to gaze ujxm it! But, lady, let 
me place upon your slender finger this ring. 

(He draivs it off.) 
Polly — No, thank you; oh, no! (He attempts it, but 
the hands close tight.) 

Mrs. Grimshaw — (Alarmed for the residt, announces 

dinner ready, and saying, affably:) — Mr. Goahead, give 

your arm to Miss Polly, and follow me. ( Goes out.) 

Mr. Goahead — Miss Polly, please honor me by taking 

my arm. 

[J.S he offers it, Joe steps nimbly forward, cuts the 
cord, and Polly taking the old gentleman's arm, 
they march out, leavihg Fanny and Joe standing 
together on the stage, looking at each other.'] 
Joe — My goodness ! And so this is our new play. 
What a one it is ! What do you call it? 
Fanny — " Old heads on young shoulders ! " 

[ Curtain.'] 



STERLING DIALOGUES 13 



JUST FROM THE CITY. 



CHARACTERS :— Sam Jones, country Rustic. 

Erastus Blinknat, city Swell. 
Evalena Evans, Cousin of Sam's. 
Officer. 



Scene I. — A wood. Sam Jones discovered whittling. 

Enter Erastus Blinknat.' 

Erastus — How do you do ? 

Sam — Hallo ! Wliar 'd yeou cum from ? 

Erastus — I came down fwom the citaw. I wish to 
find the wesidence of Mrs. Jones. Can you assist me ? 

Sam — Wall, yes, I reckon I kin. I'm purty well 
acquainted around in these diggin's. 

Erastus — So I supposed. 

Sam — And yeou want tew go tew the house of Mrs- 
Jones ? I reckon yeou be n't a relation of hers, be 
yeou? 

Erastus — No, sir; I am not. But, weally, if you 
know where she wesides I 'd be supwemely happy if you 
would infbwm me. I am in somewhat of a hurwy. 

Sam — Yeou don't say so! Wall, neow, if yeou be n't 
a relation of Mrs. Jones's I 'd like tew know what on airth 
yeou air goin' there fur. 

Erastus — (Aside) — A vewey impudent and inquisitive 
boaw. (To Sam.) I wish to infowm you, sir, that I do not 
desiaw to hold any further convewsation with you, unless 
you will give me the diwections I so much desiaw. 

Sam — Sartinly, I'll give yeou all the directions yeou 
want. I '11 tell yeou all abeout the Jones' family, and if yeou 
want, I'll tell yeou about the Barkers, and the Higgioses, 
and the Wumperleys and the Scoozinhams, and all the 



14 STERLING DIALOGUES 

rest of the people as lives areound here. Reckon yeou 
haint never been areound in these diggin's afore ? • 

Erastus — No ; I have nevaw had that honaw. 

Sam — What makes yeou talk in that twisted sort of a 
way? Yeou say honaw and nevaw jest like as if thai* was 
somethin' wrong with yeour jaws. Reckon yeou've got 
the mumps, or somethin'. 

Erastus — (Aside) — What a disagweeably booby ! ( To 
8am.) I would pwefer not to convewse with you. 

Sam — Wall, neow T , that's not like me, fur I like tew 
talk tew e'en a'most anybody. A feller ginerally feels 
better arter he has got a good long talk tew somebody, 
and as yeou have jest cum deown from the city, I want tew 
ax yeou a heap of things. I haint seed a feller from the 
city fur up'ard of six months, and that feller was so 
mighty stuck up I could skurcely git a word eout of him. 
Thar aint any use in a feller bein' so much stuck up 
abeout any thing, fur we don't know what is in store fur 
us, and when we air feelin' our biggest and lookin' our 
proudest we may git a whop that will make us feel sad 
and lonely all the rest of our lives. 

Erastus — (Aside) — I suppose I must heaw this fellow 
through with his wigmawole, or find the way myself. 
(To Sam.) Look heaw, Mr. John Smith, or whatevaw 
youaw name is, I have lost my way. Now, I fancy — 
well, I know you — 

Sam — Know me ! Wall, neow, I kalkilate yeou don't, 
if yeou think my name's John Smith. My name's Jones, 
and yeou air a wantin' tew go tew my marm'a house. 
The idee of me bein' a Smith! I tell yeou, sir, if yeou 
war n't a stranger I'd make a fuss abeout it. The Smiths 
aint no great shakes, and I don't take up with the idee 
of bein' equaled to 'em. John Smith lives deown ten- 
Turkey Run. and he was ketched in the act of stealin' a 



STERLING DIALOGUES 15 

hoss onct, so don't tell me I'm a Smith, fur I don't know 
as I kin allow it. Yeou know I 'm a feller as can 't be 
bamboozled and bully-ragged beyond a sartin p'int. 

Erastus — I meant no offence. I w 7 as merely going to 
wemawk that I knew T you — that you were one of that sowt 
of gentlemen as desiwed to tell his stowy through befoaw 
talking on any other subject. I therefoaw desiwed to 
say that I would heaw you through, and then you could 
give me the diwections so that I could find Mrs. Jones's 
wesidence. 

Sam — Wall, yeou 're a buster tew talk ! I do n't know 
as I have got any thing partickelar tew say, but I 'd like 
tew ax yeou abeout the city. I reckon yeou have lived 
there fur a consid'able spell ? 

Erastus — Yes ; I have been there for nearly ten 
yeaws. 

Sam — And I reckon yeou know all the crooks and 
turns. Neow, I'd give a heap tew live in the city a spell. 
Reckon yeou wouldn't keer abeout takin' a feller with 
yeou when yeou go back ? 

Erastus — Well, w r eally I do not expect to weturn to 
the citaw for some time, and therefoaw 7 it would be impos- 
sible for me to accompany you. Howevaw, you can find 
the way at any time. And you aw a son of Mrs. Jones, 
you say? I am glad I have found you. There is a 
young lady at youaw mothaw's house, I undewstand. 

Sam — Yes; cousin Evalena's thar. Reckon yeou 're 
her beau, aint yeou ? 

Erastus — Yes; I have that honaw\ Will you con- 
duct me to youaw wesidence, so that I may see my 
chawmer ? If you have ever been in love you will un- 
dawstand just how I feel. I am impatient to see Miss 
Evalena, and I would fly on the wings of the wind to 
meet her. 



16 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Sam — Wall, neow, this is railly presbyterious ! Here 
I've been a talkin' tew yeou this long spell, and never 
once dreamed that yeou was Evalena's beau. Thar 's a 
feller deown here as has been tryin' tew shine areound 
Evalena, but I reckon she'll skurcely look at him when 
yeou 've cum areound. Yeou air sich a stylish feller ! 
May I ax yeour name ? 

Erastus — Certainly. My name is Erastus Blinknat. 

Sam — And mine is Sam Jones. But I reckon yeou 
know all abeout our family. Evalena has told yeou, I 
s'pose. As I was a sayin', thar 's a feller deown here as 
has been a shinin' reound Evalena, but I reckon it wont 
amount tew much. He's a mighty nice feller, but then 
he isn't so stylish and doesn't talk so proper and perlite. 
Air yeou a preacher or a lawyer ? 

Erastus — Neithaw. 

Sam — Neither one nor t'other! Wall, neow, that's a 
similar sarcumstance. Yeou look as slick as a preacher. 
Then yeou must be a doctor ? 

Erastus — No ; I am not a doctaw. I abhoaw medicine. 

Sam — Wall, neow, if yeou aint a lawyer, nor a preacher, 
nor a doctor, yeou must be one of these fellers what has 
big stores and sells all kinds of kalikers and silks and 
things. Aint yeou one of them fellers? 

Kkastus — No, I have not that honaw. 

Sam — Wall, then, I'd like tew ax yeou what yeou air? 
I )o n't yeou dew nothin' ? 

Erastus — No, I am happy to infowm you thai [do 
nothing. I am a gentleman. 

Sam — Land of Pequonnock! a gentleman] Wall, if 
that don't beal all natur\ 

Erastus— Did you nevaw sec a gentleman befoaw? 

Sam -Yes, I kalkilate I'm one myself, bill I had so 
idee thai a gentleman \\:is a feller as did n't dew nothin'. 



STEELING DIALOGUES 17 

Deown here we call fellers of that kind loafers. Reckon 
yeon must be a reg'lar built loafer. 

Erastus — {Aside) — This fellow's impudence is dwead- 
ful. But he is a cousin of Evalena's, and I mustn't get 
up a wumpus with him. (To Sam.) Well, let us move on. 
I am anxious to gaze upon my chawmaw — the beautiful 
Evalena. 

Sam — Yes, I see yeou seem tew be sorter oneasy. But 
thar aint no hurry. We '11 git thar abeout dark, and deown 
here it aint fashionable to go a sparkin' till arter dark. 

Erastus — But I flattaw myself that Evalena will be 
wejoiced to see me at any time of day. 

Sam — Don't be too sure abeout that. Sometimes when 
a feller thinks he's gittin' along splendid in his courtin' 
he gits an awful backset. Neow thar was Azariah Har- 
kens deown tew Goose Holler. He was a courtin' Arabella 
Scruggins awful strong, and he 'peared tew think that it 
wouldn't be of no kind of use fur another feller tew look 
at her; he jest thought he could git her, and no mistake. 
Wall, sure's yeou 're born, Arabella ups one night and 
telled him she guessed he 'd better not come any more, as 
it war n't no kind of use. This made Azariah feel mighty 
bad, and he tuck the solemn chollies, and he haint never 
been eout a sparkin' since. 

Erastus — I think we had bettaw walk on, and you 
can tell youaw amusing stowies as we pass along. 

Sam — Yes, that 's so, Mr. Brickbat. Come along. 

[Exit both. 
[ Curtain.'] 

Scene II. — A room in Mrs. Jones's house. Evalena and 
Erastus seated. 

Evalena — Mr. Blinknat, you should not have come 
here. I wanted time to consider the matter, and I did not 
wish to be disturbed. 



18 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Erasttjs — Well, weally, I could uot wait. I found out 
youaw wetweat, and I felt that I must fly to you. O Eva- 
lena, beautiful woman, do not upbwaid me. I live upon 
youaw smiles, and I thought I must come immediately and 
plead for an answer. 

Evalena — And you must have your answer now ? 

Erastus — Yes, oh, yes, answer me. Let me not pine 
and be unhappy. Aftaw the encouragement you have 
given me, you will accept me and make me a happy man. 

Evalena — As you are so exceedingly desirous of an 
immediate answer, I will give you my answer. 

Erastus — Oh, yes, youaw answer, and make me one of 
the happiest mowtals upon the face of the eawth. But do 
not cwush me — oh, no, do not cwush me ! 

Evalena — My answer is No I 

Erastus — Oh, dweadful ! You do not mean it ? 

Evalena — I do. 

Erastus — Oh, unsay those cwuel words or I shall be 
misewable all the days of my life. O Evalena, do not 
kill me! 

Evalena — You have my answer. 

Erastus — Oh, but I can not take no for an answer. 
Oh, no, no ! I can not, I can not ! You will not cwush me 
thus when you have heawtofoaw looked upon me with 
such gweat favor. 

Evalena — It is useless to multiply words. I have 
given the only answer I can give you ; the only answer 
I will give you. Do you understand me? 

Kkastus — Oh, no, no! I can not undawstand Bach 
cwushing words. O Evalena, do not kill me! 

Enter Sam and an < Officer. 

Sam — Wall, if Evalena doeen'1 kill yeou I kalkilate 
here's a feller as will. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 19 

Erastus — What means this intwusion ? 

Sam — Why, yeou see, Mr. Brickbat, this feller thinks 
yeou air courtin' a leetle too airnestly. When yeou find 
eout what he's arter I kalkilate yeou '11 see a Brickbat fly. 

Erastus — I demand an answer. What means this 
intwusion ? 

Officer — ( Advancing and placing his hand on 
Erastus' shoulder) — I arrest you on a charge of counter- 
feiting. 

Erastus — What do you mean ? I demand an answer. 

[Exit Evalena, E. 
Oh, you have dwiven her away. You shall suffaw for 
this. (Breaks aivayfrom Officer and attempts to run off, L.) 

Sam — (Seizing him) — Wall, I kalkilate not. (To 
Officer.) The Brickbat did n't fly that time. ( To 
Erastus.) Neow yeou jest keep yeour standin' or I'll 
fetch yeou a whop with my fist. 

Erastus — Oh, this is exewuciating ! 

(Officer puts on bracelets.) 

Sam — Yes, I reckon it does make yeou feel sort of 
cranky. But this is ginerally the case. Loafers do e 'en 
a' most universally come to some bad eend. 

Erastus — You stupid fool, shut up. 

Sam — Why, Mr. Brickbat, yeou seem tew be takin' a 
spell of the tantarantums. 

Officer — Come along ; we can't stand here all day. 

Sam — I say, Mr. Brickbat, when yeou git eout, cum 
deown ag'in. Fetch yeour knittin' and stay awhile ! 

[Exit Erastus and Officer. 
That's jest the way it turns eout with these fellers as 
does n't like tew work. Wall, I reckon I 'd better step 
eout and say good-bye tew the Brickbat. [Exit Sam. 

[ Curtain.'] 



20 STERLING DIALOGUES 



TKUSTY AND TKUE. 

CHARACTERS :— Me. Soule, a Merchant. 
John Russell,] 
Frank Grey, y Clerks. 
Amasa Drew, 



Scene I. — Counting room. Russell seated at a desk, busy with a 
day-book and ledger. 

Enter Drew and Grey imperceived by him. 

Russell — {Speaking to himself) — There you'are ! I 've 
conquered you at last. All those long columns of figures 
are right, sir ! Now, John Russell, I think a page of 
algebra will get the cobwebs out of your brain. So here's 
at it, my boy ! 

Drew 7 — {Slapping him on the shoulder) — So, here's 
your den, where you hide yourself, old fellow ! What a 
fool you are, to work two hours after the rest are out ! 

Grey — And now he talks about algebra ! I 'd go sail- 
ing up Salt River, with a sign over me, before Td touch 
an algebra. Sure enough, what do you stay here for so 
late o' nights? 

Russell — Well, to-night I stayed to do a little work 
for Mr. Soule — a few figures that somehow would n't add 
up right. But I've balanced every thing all straight ; and 
I'm glad of it. They were in a snarl, somewhat, but its 
all right. 

Drew — And the algebra ? 

Russell — Oh, you know Mr. Soule told us the other 
day he must do with less help soon. And as I'm the 
youngest clerk, I expect to be the one to be turned oil*. So 
I'm brushing up a little. Just to prepare lor a winter 
campaign of teaching. That's all. 

Grey — {Putting his hands in his pockets, and looking 
solemnly at Russell) — Russell, how old are you? 



STERLING DIALOGUES 21 

Kussell — {Smiling) — Oh, I'm almost eighteen. Ra- 
ther young, I know ; but I taught last winter with pretty 
good success. I '11 do better this year. 

Grey — Well, I'm glad you aren't quite a hundred. 
A fellow 'd think, though, to hear you talk, that you came 
out of the ark. 

Drew — Looks arkish, doesn't he, Frank? Well, one 
thing I know. You 're a fool to work over your hours for 
old Soule. He doesn't pay you extra. 

Russell — I do n't ask anything for a little kindness 
like that. Mr. Soule is a kiud, considerate employer, and 
does a great deal for us, you know. I'm glad to do him 
any little favor, I 'm sure. 

Grey — Well, old fellow, don't stay here moping all the 
evening. It 's a splendid night ! Come with us and have 
some fun. 

Russell — What kind of fun ? 

Grey — Oh, most any thing. A hand at euchre, per- 
haps. 

Russell — My dear fellow, I don't know one card from 
another. In the ark, where I was brought up, cards are 
non est 

Drew — Of course. Well, say a game of billiards, for 
variety. 

Russell — I am not going to the billiard-room again. 
I confess to a fondness for the game, but they make it a 
regular gambling operation ; and such a set of profane, 
half-drunken rowdies as they get in. No, sir! I beg to 
be excused. I wish you would n't go, boys. 

Drew — I've no conscientious scruples, and I'm not 
afraid. I was n't brought up in the ark, thank fortune. 

Russell — Mine was a blessed, restful, safe old ark, 
thank Heaven ! The memory of it has been a safeguard 
in many a temptation. 



22 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Grey — Yes, yes, no doubt ! You make me home-sick : 
for your words bring to mind my dear old home in the 
country. 

Drew — There, boys, don't be spoonies ! We'll just go 
it while we 're young, and have a good time. See here, 
Russell, we came in to ask you to take a sail with us to- 
morrow. There 's a party of us going over to the island — 
it 's going to be a splendid day ! 

Russell — You don't mean to-morrow ! To-morrow's 
Sunday ! You 've forgotten. 

Drew — Forgotten ! Just as if it could be any harm 
for us poor fellows, who are shut up within brick walls .six 
days out of seven, to take a sail on Sunday ! 

Grey — You can go to church twice and attend your 
Sunday-school, and then go. That wouldn't be breaking 
the Sabbath. 

Drew — Come, Russell, do go just for once ! I tell you 
Diamond Island is just splendid now. Come ! 

Russell — Stop a moment. Let me think. I tell you, 
boys, I'd like to go ! I 've been in the city ten months, 
and all the country I've seen is that pitiful little Common, 
and the bit of green in front of my boarding house. I'd 
like to go, if it was right, but — 

Grey — Hurra! "The man that deliberates is lost." 
He '11 go, Drew ; we only want him to complete our num- 
ber. We '11 have a gay old time. 

Russell — See here, boys, don't be too fast. Just let 
me read you a part of my mother's last letter. I Takes a 
letter from his breast pocket, and opens it.) You see, I 
carry it next my heart. (Reads:) "I hope, my child, 
you will never be tempted to spend any portion of the 
Sabbath in a way that your mother would not approve. 
I know yon must be lonely on thai day, and that you 
must miss us all. But do not forgel that day belongs to 



STERLING DIALOGUES 23 

God. You can not expect His blessing, if you do not ' re- 
member the Sabbath.' " Now, boys, you see I sat right 
down and wrote to mother that I wouldn't be tempted to 
do any thing on the Sabbath that she would n't like me to 
do. So you see I can 't go. ♦ 

Grey — Well, you needn't preach any more. We'll 
get enough of that to-morrow. 

Russell — I beg your pardon, boys. I think I never 
intruded my opinions upon you before. But, honest, I 
do n't think it right to go sailing on Sunday. 

Grey — And, honest, I don't — so there! 

Russell — Oh, then, be true to your conscience, and 
don't go. 

Grey — I 've promised, and I must this once. But it 
shall be the very last time. 

Drew — Hold your tongue, Grey, and don't be a fool. 
Russell, you 've always been a clever fellow, never poking 
your nose into other folks' business, and you've never " let 
on" about us fellows that don't think as you do. I 
respect you for it. And now I want you to do us a favor, 
will you ? 

Russell — Certainly, if I can. 

Drew — Well, you can. Tell us where old Soule keeps 
the key to his boat-house. 

Grey — You are not supposed to mistrust what we want 
to know for. 

Drew — Oh, we want to know just for information. We 
have inquiring minds, you see. A little curiosity — that 's 
all. 

Russell — But I do suspect your intentions. You 
want to get Mr. Soule's " Favorite " to go sailing with to- 
morrow.. 

Drew — Granted. He's a stingy old scamp. He wont 
let his boat, and there isn't another to be had, for love or 



24 STERLING DIALOGUES 

money. All you 've got to do about it is to say, acciden. 
tally, where he keeps the key. We know you have 
charge of it. 

Russell — (Walking about, as if thinking, and then 
speaking) — Can you keep a secret, boys ? 

Drew — Mum's the word. Nobody shall ever know. 
The rack could n't wring it from us. 

Grey — Oh, yes ; we can keep a secret, and we will. 
Let us have it. 

Russell — So can I; and so I will ! Mr. Soule gave 
me the care of the boat-house key. I promised him I 
would neither let it go out of my possession, nor tell 
where I keep it. I know you '11 both be offended, but I 
can 't help it. My motto is " trusty and true," and I '11 
stick to it as long as I live. 

Drew — You 're a booby, spooney, and coward ! I cut 
your acquaintance for ever. {Goes out.) 

Grey — (Folloiving Drew, takes Russell's hand, and 
speaks in a loiv voice.) — I respect you, Russell. I don't 
blame you ! Don't forget me. 

Russell — Well, they've gone. Heigho! I've made 
a life-time enemy ; but I can't help it! I'm a booby and 
a spooney, may be, but I'm not a coward. I know I'd 
rather march up to the cannon's mouth than to face such 
music as this. Oh, dear! wouldn't I like to have some- 
body tell me I'm not a booby. I wish somebody cared 
about us poor stranger-boys. When I'm a man, I'll hunt 
up all the young fellows, and just let them see that some- 
body bus an interest in them. I'll ask them to church 
and Sabbath-school and— ah ! well ! that's another of my 
inolH i •,. ms. I suppose I must be a little unfinished in 
the upper story. I'll off to bed and to sleep. [Kcit. 

[( urtain."] 



STERLING DIALOGUES 25 

Scene II. — Place same as before. Time, Monday morning. Me. 
Soule sitting by a desk. 

Enter Kussell. 

Kussell — You wished to see me, sir ? 

Soule — Ah, Russell ! {Extending his hand.) Glad 
to see you so prompt ! Sit down here. I want to have a 
little talk with you. 

Russell— ( Taking a seat) — Thank you, sir, I Ve been 
expecting this for a week. I suppose you're about to 
make the change you spoke of. I 'm sorry to go, sir, but 
as I'm the youngest clerk, I expected to be the first one 
turned off. 

Soule — Yes, I am making some changes in my busi- 
ness, and some two or three must be discharged. You 
found the snarl here, (Laying his hand on the ledger,) and 
unraveled it, I see. 

Russell — Yes, sir ; I think it is all right. 

Soule — All right, Russell, and very well done. Have 
you seen Drew this morning ? 

Russell — No, sir; neither Drew nor Grey. I won- 
dered where they are to-day. I noticed neither of their 
desks were filled. 

Soule — Then you haven't heard the news? 

Russell — No, sir ! What news ? 

Soule — Frank Grey had his eye put out last night, in 
a billiard saloon, in a druuken quarrel ! 

Russell — Frank Grey! Poor fellow! You don't 
mean to say he had been drinking, Mr. Soule ? 

Soule — No, I think not. He got mixed up in the 
quarrel somehow. It is a great pity he was ever tempted 
to go there at all. Grey is not very wicked yet, only 
a little weak. 

Russell — Perhaps this may save him. I hope so. 



26 STERLING DIALOGUES 

He 's good-hearted. Poor Frank ! Lost an eye ! How 
terrible ! 

Soule — Yes, but it might have been worse. If the 
loss of an eye will reform his character and make his life 
useful, it will be a mercy, after all. There's another 
piece of bad news which I presume you have n't heard. 
Drew is in the lockup. 

Russell — (Astonished) — In the where ? 

Soule — In " durance vile," Russell, on the charge of 
breaking and entering. 

Russell — Whose store? Can it be true, Mr. Soule? 

Soule — Captain Nelson's boat-house. He stole Nel- 
son's yacht, he and some other fellows, and went pleasur- 
ing. Nelson 's angry, of course, and had them arrested 
this morning. 

Russell — It is a sad thing ! I am very sorry. Was 
Grey one of the party ? 

Soule — No, he was n't. He had a sick headache all 
day, and it is a great pity it had n't lasted all the evening, 
as well. 

Russell — Somebody coaxed him off. The poor fellow 
could never say " no." 

Soule — It 's a great pity. The fact is, he is n't " trusty 
and truer Very few young men are. When I find one 
that is, I consider him worth his weight in diamonds — eh, 
John ? 

Russell — Yes, sir ; I suppose so, sir ! That is, my 
parents always taught me so. 

Soule— Don't blush so, Russell, my dear fellow. I 
did n't mean to play eaves-dropper last Saturday night, 
but I heard your conversation with Drew and Grey, 
You have been well taught, and you do your parents 
honor. You shall not suffer for your defence of me and 
my property, I assure you. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 27 

Russell — I only did my duty, sir. When do you 
want me to leave — to-day ? 

Soule — I do n't wish you to leave at all. 

Russell — I thought you said — 

Soule — You must n't jump at conclusions. I said I 
was about making some change, and I am. I sent for 
you to offer you the clerkship made vacant by Drew. 
That gives you a jump over four years, and will more 
than double your salary. 

Russell— O Mr. Soule, how can I thank you? Do 
you think I am competent to do his work ! 

Soule — I think so. That was his work you righted up 
on Saturday night. 

Russell — Mr. Soule, you never can know what you 
have done for us all — mother and sister and me. I hope 
you will never have cause to regret your kindness. 

Soule — I never shall, if you continue trusty and true. 
That is all I ask of you. For no man can be that to the 
full, without being more — a true Christian. 

(He shakes Russell's hand, and exits.) 

Russell — (Pinching himself) — It isn't me. I must 
be dreaming. John Russell, the booby, spooney, coward ! 
O mother, it all comes of your teaching ! And earnestly 
will I pray that I be not led into temptation, but ever be 
trusty and true. 

\_Curtain.~\ 



28 STERLING DIALOGUES 



UNAPPRECIATED GENIUS. 

CHARACTERS :— Mb. Brown. 
Mrs. Brown. 
Alphonse, 1 _ n t> - 

Clementina, little Girl. 
Biddy, Domestic. 



SCENE. — Disordered room ; everything in confusion. 

Enter Mrs. Brown, with knotted hair and soiled dress. 
Takes up manuscript and looks it over. 

Mrs. Brown — Dear, dear! Here it is Saturday 
morning, and that article for the Hardscrabble Neivs not 
finished yet. Let me see ! How did it read ? {Reads 
aloud:) "On a beautiful day in the leafy month of 
June, when all nature was bursting forth with — " 

Enter Biddy. 

Biddy — Ungyuns, mum ! Will ye be havin' them for 
dinner, mum? 

Mrs. Brown — Oh no, Biddy, they smell so badly. I 
guess we'll have the bits left from yesterday's dinner 
1 1 ashed for to-day; you know Mr. Brown's never par- 
ticular. 

Biddy — {Aside) — More's the pity, says I. Poor mon ! 
( To Mrs. Brown.) The bits is all gone, mum. Give 
'em to the dog, mum, to Bounce. 

Mrs. Brown — Oh, Biddy, how could you ! Enough for 
two good dinners! I haven't time to go down to the 
pantry ; can't you tell me what there is ? 

Biddy — That I can, mum, fur me two eyes can say, an' 
me two hands can hold ivery bit of aitin' there is in this 
house, to be sure! The two boys, mum, has et np the 
black raisin cake — 



STERLING DIALOGUES 29 

Mrs. Brown — All my fruit-cake ? 

Biddy — Truth, mum, though I make bold to say it 
tasted strong of mer lasses to me ; Ellen By an says — 

Mrs. Brown — What else is there? (Goes to writing.) 
Any bread ? 

Biddy — No, mum ! Baby 's et that. 

Mrs. Brown — Five loaves baked yesterday. Poor 
Baby! Well, get — get — oh, something! Make a pud- 
ding, can 't 'you ? Run down and buy some bread, and 
some meat — steak I guess, that'll cook the quickest — and 
tell 'em to put it on the book. 

Biddy — On the book, is it ? And if it 's all the same to 
yes, mum, I '11 bring it in the basket ! 

Mrs. Brown — (Laughs) — Oh, Biddy! I mean, tell 
them to charge it to Mr. Brown. 

Biddy — Yes, mum. [Exit. 

Mrs. Brown — If Charles only would look after the 
help more, I would be glad ; he must see that J do n't get 
time. Her mother was here yesterday, and that accounts 
for empty larder, the children never touch anything, 
precious ones. Oh, dear! (Yawns, and reads again:) 
" Nature was bursting forth with all her wealth of — " 

Enter Alphonse, and Clementina. 

Alphonse — (Holding up his buttonless jacket) — But- 
tons all off my jacket, mamma ; see ! 

Mrs. Brown — (Abstractedly) — Pin it, Alphonse. 
(Reads:) "wealth of buds, and — " 

Alphonse — Apple, mamma, Clementina's got my 
apple. 

Clementina — Just one bite, mamma. 

Mrs. Brown — Give it to brother, dear ; run and play, 
and you may take my white crepe shawl. 

Clementina — Your very bestest one, mamma. You 



30 STERLING DIALOGUES 

nodded us yes. Oh, you're just the sweetest, {Kisses her 
rapturously,) goodest mamma. 

Mrs. Brown — Run away, pet, you'll stick my face all 
up with your apple. {Reads :) " blossoms to gladden 
weary man. The sun was slowly sinking in a — " 

[Exit both. 
Enter Biddy. 

Biddy — Swill-pail, mum ! Baby 's fell in it, sure ; he 's 
kickin' an' squallin' awful, mum. 

Mrs. Brown — Get him out quick, and take off his 
dress. Poor baby. 

Biddy — Yes, mum. [Exit. 

Mrs. Brown — {Beads) — " blazing radiance — " 

Enter Alphonse, Adolphus and Clementina. 

Alphonse — Fire 's all out, mamma ; may n't me, and 
'Dolph, and Clem come in where you be ? 

Mrs. Brown — What grammar! What manners! 
No, dears ; run out and skate, mamma 's busy. Put on 
your mittens. 

Alphonse — The strap to my skate 's broke. 

Mrs. Brow t n — Take a string, can 't you ? [Exit all. 
{Beads :) " in a blazing radiance of glory, when a 
stranger might have been seen approaching a — " 

Enter Biddy. 
Biddy — Beef's liver; all the meat he had, mum. 
Mrs. Brown — Dreadful ! Fix it someway. 
Biddy — Yes, mum. [Exit. 

Mrs. Brown — (Beads) — "approaching a dwelling on 
outskirts of a small village. He was seated on a — " 

Enter Biddy. 
Biddy— Clothes-line 'a broke, mum, an' let the beauti- 
ful white clothes, as white as your own hand, missis, right 



STERLING DIALOGUES 31 

down on the dirty ground, an' me so tired, what with 
doin' iverything, that I've no strength lift at all, 'tall, 
an' twelve of the clock and no dinner. 

Mrs. Brown — I'm sorry; can't you take the bed- 
cord ? 

Biddy — ( Aside) — Little does the likes of her care if me 
fingers wuz worked off to me elbows. 

Mrs. Brown — (Reads') — " Sitting on a — " 

Enter Adolphus. 

Adolphus — (Biding a broom-handle, calls out noisily) — 
Horse, mamma, has corned right into your house ! Do n't 
you touch him, mamma, or he'll kick. (Sings:) "I'll 
bet my money — " 

Mrs. Brown — Stop, sir ! Where does he get that 
slang? Leave the room this minute ! (He goes off crying.) 
— " on a noble steed who seemed proudly conscious of its — " 

Enter Clementina. 
Clementina — ( With doll) — Eyes all bunged out ; mam- 
ma, (crying,) my baby's spoilt! 

Mrs. Brown — Go out, and close the door ! 

[Exit Clementina. 
(Reads :) " beauty and worth. As he sauntered slowly up 
to the humble paling, a man rushed wildly out, frantically 
exclaiming — " 

Enter Mr. Brown. 

Mr. Brown — Wife, do you know what that great 
blundering thing has done ? Actually taken off the dear 
little thing's dress, as you told her, and left him so ! Mer- 
cury at fifteen degrees below zero. I declare my baby 
eha' n't be treated so ! 

Mrs. Brown — (Amiably) — Whose baby ? Say our baby, 
dear ! If there's any one thing I dislike more than an- 



32 STERL.TNG DIALOGUES 

other, it is to hear a married man say " my this," or " my 
that." If I had my way, that word should be entirely 
stricken out of the domestic calendar. " Our " sounds so 
much more generous. 

Mr. Brown — Meanwhile, will your majesty please to 
inform me what I shall put on to our shivering, neglected 
baby ? 

Mrs. Brown — Oh, wrap him up in one of the boys' 
roundabouts till his dress gets dry ! (He goes out.) How 
little incentive a married woman feels for literary pursuits 
with no encouragement ! Charles, too, has great intellect, 
but he will insist that " healing the sick " is of more im- 
portance than feeding the mind ; I would n't mind it so 
much, only it takes him away from home most of the time, 
and he can 't amuse the children, or oversee the house as 
much as he ought ; out, after all, bless him ; there never 
was so good a husband, if he can't always appreciate my 
nights of intellect. Where was I ? (Beads :) — " exclaim- 
ing, ' Help, sir ! Help ! My wife is dying, and I — ' " 

Enter Mr. Brown. 

Mr. Brown — Can 't find our best pants, wife ! 

Mrs. Brown — (Dreamily) — Have you looked in the 
wood-box ? Seems to me I saw 'em. 

Mr. Brown — TFW/-box ? 

Mrs. Brown — No ! 'twas n't either. I put 'em into the 
south parlor window, where the glass is out. 

Mr. Brown — What economy! 5 out. \ 

Mrs. Brown — (Reads) — " Hurriedly our hero alighted, 
and stepping into — " 

Enter Mk. Brown. 
Mr. Brown — (Hastily) — Best hal ruined, Jane; those 
wretched young ones had it oul on the ice for a gunboat 
I do wish you would Leave writing, and Bee to things, 



STERLING DIALOGUES 33 

Mrs. Brown — {Soothingly) — Biddy will. You don't 
feel right well to-day, do you, dear? I wouldn't call 
'em young ones; they wont think you love 'em — little 
angels. 

Mr. Brown — Destroying angels, I should say. 

Mrs. Brown — Now, Charles, don't! You know if you 
took one-half the interest in our home affairs that I do, 
things would n't be so disorderly. 

Mr. Brown — {Sotto voce) — As much interest f 

Mrs. Brown — Don't repeat my words, dear ; it isn't 
good taste ; I — 

Enter Biddy. 

Biddy — Would ye be good enough, mum, to come 
down and set yer two eyes on till this very same puddin', 
mum ? Och, bad luck to the day I iver tried the same ! 
I was thinkin' could I make one loike me cousin Ann 
Flynn did the ither day after mass ; she that married 
Mike Flannigan, yer mind, — 

Mrs. Brown — Talk faster. 

Biddy — Faster, is it? when me poor tongue is that 
burrunt with tastin' of the ugly hot stuff, what is no pud- 
din' at all, 'tall, only scalt milk and bread bits. 

Mrs. Brown — Did you remember the eggs and sugar? 

Biddy — And it's not the loikes o' me, mum, as would 
be forgetting of any sich things, with me best of characters 
from my former missis, but I says to myself, says I : Poor 
mon, he little knows how things is goin' on unbeknownst 
to him — blessed lamb ! and he gone, and I '11 save him in 
what small ways I can, says I, and so I l'aves out — fearin' 
it might not be fit atin', yer see, if it didn't coom good — 
the sugar and eggs both of 'em — 

Mr. Brown — What a goose ! 

Mrs. Brown — {At the same time) — Left 'em out? 
{Both langh. Biddy flounces out mad.)) Leave me just 



34 STERLING DIALOGUES 

a minute till I finish this. Oh, dear, there are those noisy 
children. {He goes out.) Let me see, (Beads:) — "stepping 
into the — " 

Enter Mr. Brown. 

Mr. Brown — Baby 's swallowed a whistle, quick ! 

Mrs. Brown — Oh, dear ! (Leaving room.) Jerk up his 
arm ! Hold his head down ! Spat him on the back ! 
Oh, my precious, precious baby ! [Exit both. 

[Curtain.] 



THE DISCONTENTED GIRLS. 

CHARACTERS :— Jennie, } , „ ,.. ,, n . , 
Floka, J two llttle Girls ' 



Scene. — Floka and Jennie standing, with dirty faces, tangled hair, 
shoe-strings untied ; one with a bonnet on, and the other swinging 
hers in her hand ; and each carrying a load of school books. 

Jennie — So, you are ready for school, are you ? I see 
you have got your bonnet and books. 

Flora — Yes, I 'spose I 've got to go, whether I want 
to or not. The plagued old school ! I don't care a tent 
for it. All I do is get scolded ! When I am at home, 
mother scolds all the time ; and when I am at school, the 
teacher scolds. It 's scold, scold, scold, all the whole time, 
from daylight till darkness! I am glad when it's time 
to go to bed, so I w T ont hear any more scolding; ami 1 
tell you, I lie as late in the morning as possible. Mother 
keeps calling me to get up, but I know how to fix her. I 
just stuff the bed-clothes in my ears, just as tight as I can ; 
and then she calls, and calls, aud I never hear a single 
word ! 

Jennie — That's just the way I do, too! I look out 
how I get u}) before breakfast ! I can do work enough 



STERLING DIALOGUES 35 

afterwards, and get scolding enough too. I have to hold 
the baby all the time, and all he does is squall, and then 
mother scolds, but I do n't care ! I make him squall 
sometimes, on purpose! I hate babies, and I wouldn't 
take care of them if I could help it ! I am glad when 
school-time comes, so as to get away from them. It 's not 
quite so bad there, but it 's bad enough, for it 's study, 
study, study ! I can 't look off the book a single minute, 
but the teacher sees me ; and then those terrible geography 
lessons, with all those long hard names. I can never learn 
them. I suppose I shall have to stay after school every 
night, but I do n't know as I care. 

Flora — I just know what I wish. I wish I was a 
grown-up young lady. I would go to all the dances, and 
parties, I wanted to. I guess I 'd do as I pleased then ! 
I 'd have just as many dresses as I wanted. I 'd not wear 
an old flannel dress like this ; and I 'd have such beauti- 
ful feathers, and ribbons ; Oh, I 'd cut a dash, I tell you ! 

[Exit both together. 
[ Curtain.'] 



COLORADO. 

AX ACTING CHARADE. 

CHARACTERS :— Teacher, young Ladv. 

Seven Children, her Pupils. 



Scene : — A noisy school-room. Scholars standing. Teacher 
rings bell, and they take their seats. 

First Scholar — (Points to Teacher's collar, loose at 
one end) — Look at her collar ! ( Whispering?) 

Second Scholar — Will, I 've got your tag. 

Third Scholar — (To Fourth Scholar) — Where's 
the red apple you promised to bring me ? 



36 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Fourth Scholar — {To Third Scholar) — I've et it 
up. 

Teacher — Order, order ! 

Fifth Scholar — {Catching Teacher by dress) — 
Teacher, your collar is unpinned ! 

First Scholar — Your collar ! 

Sixth Scholar — I Ve got a pin ! 

Teacher — I'd like the lessons better learned than 
they were yesterday. 

Seventh Scholar — Hadn't you better fix your 
collar ! 

Teacher — Yes ; I '11 fix my collar ! Now, first thing, 
we'll have an exercise in orthography. All give second 
sound of a. {All give different sounds of a.) 

Teacher — Horrible ! Second sound, I said ; try 
again. {Some give e and some u.) 

Teacher — No ; give it like this. {Sounds a. All 
give it with great stress.) 

Teacher — Perhaps singing will go better. Order! 
Turn to the fourth page of singiug books. Now all sing 
Do. {Each one takes a different key.) 

Fifth Scholar — Will is singing Bass. 

Third Scholar — Tom's got Tenor. 

Fourth Scholar — Which is mine, Air or Second? 

Teacher — All sing with me! {Sings Do. All sound 
wrong key again.) 

Teacher — Outrageous ! We '11 have recess. 

[Exit all. 
[ Curtain.'] 



STERLING DIALOGUES 37 



A PAIR OF LIONS. 



CHAKACTEKS :— Ned Stone, a waggish Lawyer. 

Deacon Green, his Cousin, a credulous Rustic. 
Senator Flurry, a verbose Coward. 



Scene. — Stone's office. Table back center, with books, etc. Chair 
at table. Two chairs right aud left, front center. 

Enter Ned Stone. 

Ned — (Taking off hat and coat and sitting at table) — 
What a trying life we lawyers lead, to be sure — trying 
always as hard as possible to kill the time ; it's a trouble- 
some task I find it sometimes. Heigh-ho ! I '11 set the first 
two men I come across to quarrelling and then offer my 
professional services. Hum ! My appointment-book must 
be looked to. (Takes blank-book from table.) Let me see ; 
it will never do to have these pages look so bare, so down 
go Messrs. Brown, Jones, Smith and Robinson again for 
the fourth time, with the addition of Mr. Ferguson. 
( Writing.) There, that looks more professional, I think. 
Hallo ! Here's an actual letter for me, and, bless me, it's 
from that intensely rural cousin of mine, Zachariah Green, 
of Squash Hollow. ( Opens and reads.) " Respected cousin 
Stone : — I am about to take the liberty of dropping in upon 
you as I'm a coming down to your city afore long as I 
want to see the sights and as I aint never been there before 
but once anda s I am now Deacon to our meetin'-house 
and as I am in haste your humble servant cousin Zacha- 
riah Green. P. S. — I'll be after this right smart." 
What have I done to incur this affliction ? Coming down 
upon me to see the " sights " when I am tired of every 
body and every thing. Sights, eh ? Well, I ivill show 
him the sights until he'll wish himself back at home 
before he's been here an hour. And there's that ever- 



38 STERLING DIALOGUES 

lasting Senator Flurry coming in to see me this morning 
about his anti-something speech; he's another detestable 
bore ; but I have a plan to get rid of them both, and I '11 
use it too. 

Enter Deacon Green. 

Deacon Green — Good morning, cousin Stone; how- 
de-do? I'm proud and happy to see ye. Quite a sur- 
prise now, I tell ye. Oh, lor ! No it aint nuther, 'cause 
it's me what's a come to see ye ; now aint it ? 

Ned — Delighted to see you, cousin Zach. I've just re- 
ceived your letter, so that you quite surprised me. 

Deacon Green — "Wall, now, it's harnsome of ye to 
say so, cousin Ned. Ye '11 let me- call ye cousin Ned, 
wont ye ? 

Ned — Certainly, why not? We're cousins, aren't we? 

Deacon Green — So we be, so we be ! Cousins now, 
aint we ? So we be. Purty slick trade, eh, cousin Ned ? 

Ned — Fair, for the season. Take a chair, Zach. 

Deacon Green — Could n't think of robbin' ye, cousin 
Ned; howsomdever, I don't object to sottin' down. (Sits.) 
Jiminy ! This air a purty slick bit of furnetor, aint it, 
cousin Ned? Now Is'pose sich a chair as this cost most 
three dollars, would n't it now ? 

Ned — Almost as much as that. 

Deacon Green — Sho ! Ye don't tell me? I say, 
cousin Ned, I aint interruptin' business, be I ? 

Ned — Not a bit ; my clients rarely come so early. 

Deacon Green — Your what, don't? 

Ned — My clients. 

Deacon Green — Ah, so so! But I say, cousin Nod, 
where '11 a feller go to see the Bights? 

Ned— You needn't stir out of your chair, one of the 
biggest lions in (own is coming here this morning. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 39 

Deacon Green — How ye talk! Jerusha! I should 
think ye kept a hull menagerum. Say, will he bite ? 

Ned — He does sometimes, and roars tremendously, too. 

Deacon Green — Ex-cuse me; I'd rather see 'em to 
Barnum's. 

Ned — You do n't understand me ; this lion is a man, 
a most noted character in town ; in fact, he 's the most 
celebrated pugilist in the state. 

Deacon Green — A what-ilist ? 

Ned — A pugilist, a prize-fighter. 

Deacon Green — Oh! I thought it might be some- 
thing like a client. 

Ned — Well, he's coming here, and you must talk to 
him. 

Deacon Green — What! Me, me, Deacon Zacha- 
riah Green, talk to a prize-fighter ? Ye make my blood 
run cold. 

Ned — But you must n't say anything against the prize- 
ring ; he's very sensitive on the subject, and although he 
pretends to denounce all rings, yet he 's a monomaniac in 
their support. 

Deacon Green — {Aside) — Another critter from Bar- 
num's, I reckon. 

Ned — You must favor rings with all your might, but 
you must not let him say too much ; talk all you can 
yourself; he's very bloodthirsty when excited. 

Deacon Green — Goodness gracious ! I 'm all in a 
shiver. 

Ned— You must not refuse to do anything he asks ; if 
you do, he will crush you on the spot ; he has already an- 
nihilated seventeen men. 

Deacon Green — Oh, Jiminy ! Deacon Zachariah 
Green, in scattered fragerments ! 

Ned — Let me caution you against one thing more; 



40 STERLING DIALOGUES 

when he begins to pull down his upper lip, you will know 
that his blood is getting up ; to quiet him, you must im- 
mediately respond by jerking his ear ; he will probably 
then pull your nose ; but keep calm, and he wont hurt 
you much. 

Deacon Green — Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I wish I'd 
stayed to hum ! Say, cousin Ned, I do n't want to see 
the pugifist. 

Ned — But you must ; he 's coming up stairs now. Get 
into my private room, and come out when I begin to 
whistle. 

Deacon Green — (Aside) — Oh, Jiminy ! Lions, and 
clients, and pugifists, and money-monkeys, and goodness 
knows what ! Why did I come to see the sights ! [Exit. 

Ned — Ha ! ha ! ha ! He 's the easiest game I ever saw. 
Why, he believes that I keep a whole menagerie, and as 
for that Senator Flurry, he is the worst coward in town. 
Zach will regard him as a sanguinary prize-fighter ; that's 
his nickname too, by-the-way. That was a lucky thought 
of mine, in speaking of his pulling down his lip ; it 's a 
favorite trick of his. Now for preparing the worthy 
Senator for an original sensation. 

Enter Senator Flurry. 

Ned — And how does my honorable friend find himself 
this morning? 

Senator Flurry — Your honorable friend finds him- 
self in a state of indignation bordering on frenzy ; in feet, 
it is only the strong arm of the law that prevents my slav- 
ing a fellow creature. 

Ned — You positively alarm me! Who lias beeD so 
heedless as to incur the enmity of so righteously vindictive 
a man as yourself? 

Senator Flurry — You may well say vindictive; I 



STERLING DIALOGUES 41 

am a terrible enemy, when roused to action. My dear 
Stone, did you ever see me roused to action ? 

Ned — My memory fails me. 

Senator Flurry — Ah, but you should ! You should ! 
You 've read my speech against the Light House King — 
my anti-humbug speech ? 

Ned — Every word of it. 

Senator Flurry — It raised a tremendous wind. 

Ned — Indeed it did. (Aside.) All noise and bluster ! 

Senator Flurry — And yet, after crushing Senator 
Bombast, he has the impudence to reply, advocating the 
very fraud I denounced, and here's his speech in this 
morning's paper. It 's monstrous ! (Hands paper.) 

Ned — Enormous ! ( Glances at it, and lays it aside.) 
But I say, my dear Flurry, you must permit me to intro- 
duce to you a new lion, just arrived in town ; a cele- 
brated man, I assure you, though rather eccentric. 

Senator Flurry — Delighted to meet all the lions, I 
am sure. Is he approachable at present ? 

Ned — Oh, yes ; he 's in the next room ; he 's an actor, 
and inimitable in his line ; you would think that he was 
acting all the time, to watch him. 

Senator Flurry — I should like to see him perform. 

Ned — Nothing will please him more than to have you 
ask him to give you a specimen ; but he pretends modesty, 
and you must urge him very hard ; give him no oppor- 
tunity to refuse. 

Senator Flurry — I promise you I will not. 

Ned — He's a little queer in his head, and his temper 
is something remarkable. 

Senator Flurry — Indeed ? 

Ned — Yes ; he will fight, on the least provocation. To 
keep him quiet, you must first ask him to declaim ; then, 
to please him, denounce all church officers ; he hates them 
15 



42 STERLING DIALOGUES 

all, especially deacons. At all events, don't let him talk 
too much or he will get ferocious, and keep close to him ; 
if he gets beyond control, gently pull his nose ; it will do 
him good. 

Senator Flurry — An original character, truly. But 
are all these precautions necessary ? 

Ned — Oh, entirely so ; unless you wish to be eaten alive. 

Senator Flurry — No, thank you. (Aside.) I wish I 
were out of this ! 

Ned — ( Whistling) — I think he 's coming in now. Re- 
member to act boldly, or he will challenge you on the 
spot. 

Enter Deacon Green, nervously. 

Ned — (Going to hiiii) — You must let me call you 
Roscius. 

Deacon Green — Say, cousin Ned, I want to go home ! 

Ned — Hush ! Keep your courage up ; act boldly, or 
he will demolish you on the spot. 

Deacon Green — (Aside) — My ! How wild he looks ! 

Senator Flurry — (Aside) — What a ferocious char- 
acter. 

Ned — Gentlemen, it gives me pleasure to introduce two 
such popular lions to each other. Mr. Roscius, Mr. Flurry : 
Mr. Flurry, Mr. Roscius. 

Senator Flurry — ( Quickly) — Enthusiastically emo- 
tionalized at grasping you by the hand. 

(Shales hands vigorously.) 

Deacon Green — That's perlite, I'm sure. I'm tin 1 
same way myself, with a respect to your superior list. 
(Aside.) Jerusha! What a grip! 

Senator Flurry — Your reputation is only excelled 
by your ability. (Aside.) What a capital actor! 

Deacon Green — So it is! So it is, Mr. Pugi — I mean 
Mr. Fussy ! I— I— I— 



STERLING DIALOGUES 43 

Senator Flurry — Capital ! Capital ! My dear sir, 
I never saw such a power of imitation. 

Deacon Green — I agree with ye, squire. I'm right 
up with ye. (Aside.) I mustn't disagree, or he'll chaw 
me up! 

Ned — Gentlemen, may I ask you to excuse me, as busi- 
ness demands my time ? I know that you will be excel- 
lent company for each other. 

(Goes to one side, where he can ivatch.) 

Deacon Green — (Aside) — Oh, lor! He's left me 
with the money-monkey. Wall, I must talk, I s'pose. 
( Aloud.) I hope business is good, squire ? 

Senator Flurry — There's nothing particular on just 
now, except a little sparring between Bombast and myself. 

Deacon Green — He 's in the ring, hey ? 

Senator Flurry — Yes ; he is in the ring. 

Deacon Green — I reckon ye polished him off? (Aside.) 
That 's the way these pugifists talk, I guess. 

Senator Flurry — Yes ; I knocked him completely 
off his feet. 

Deacon Green — Sho ! (Aside.) He'll serve me same 
way, mebbe. 

Senator Flurry — I hope we shall hear you in public, 
before long ? 

Deacon Green — Wall, I may say somethin' in meetin'. 

Senator Flurry — Capital acting ! Capital ! (Aside.) 
If I did n't know, I should say he was a genuine Yankee. 

Deacon Green — So it is, squire ! So it is ! (Aside.) 
I wonder what on airth he 's talkin' abeout ! 

Senator Flurry — Your life on the boards must have 
brought you a queer experience. 

Deacon Green — Wall, no, not 'xactly ; my dad, he 
run a saw-mill, and I did larn a little of the business. 

Senator Flurry — You 're inclined to facetiousness. 



44 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Deacon Green — No, I aint, squire ; I 'm all right ; 
there aint nothing the matter with me. 

Senator Flurry — Ha, ha! Capital! You'll draw 
a big house. 

Deacon Green — Keckon I can, squire. I drawed 
Jonese's house from down 'side the grist mill, way up top 
of Pumpkin Hill ; me and my oxen done it alone. 

Senator Flurry — Delicious! Your humor is re- 
freshing. 

Deacon Green — No it aint, not a bit of it. (Aside.) 
What 's he a-drivin' at, anyway ? 

Senator Flurry — Oh, but it is, it is ! I insist upon 
it. 

Deacon Green — So it is, so it is ! if ye insist. (Aside.) 
He's gettin' ready to punch me, I know. 

Senator Flurry — Now if I had a little wit like yours, 
to use against these rings. 

Deacon Green — Ye can't possibly mean against the 
ring, squire ; the ring is a noble institution — 

Senator Flurry — Sir ; monstrous ! 

Deacon Green — Ye can't possibly speak agin it; it's 
the right of every citizen to fight in the ring and for the 
ring, as you, who are the best man in the ring, the leader 
of all rings — 

Senator Flurry — Sir — I — 

Deacon Green — I can't hear ye speak agin it. 
( Aside.) Keep it up, Zachariah ! Keep it up ! (Aloud.) 
No, squire, ye may pretend modesty, but it wont work 
with me, for I know what a champion ye be in the ring. 
Long life to it, then. (Aside. I There, I'm safe! 

Senator Flurry — (Aside) — He's verging on the 
ferocious! (Aloud.) My dear Roscius,your ardor does 
you credit ; you would fill my place with your oratorical 
powers and put me to the blush. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 45 

Deacon Green — No ; I aint much on my pugifist. 

Senator Flurry — (Aside) — Some theatrical term, 
probably. (Aloud.) I must entreat you to give me a 
specimen of your dramatic powers ; a selection from 
Shakspeare, or some simple little poem. 

Deacon Green — Poem ? I don't know no poem. 

Senator Flurry — You're too modest! Your brain 
must be teeming over with gems. 

Deacon Green — I aint much troubled that way. 

Senator Flurry — But you must give me something. 
I insist. You must ! You shall ! 

Deacon Green — Wall, then. (Aside.) He'll finish 
me if I don't. (Aloud.) 

" Mary had a little lamb, 

Its fleece was white as snow, 
And everywhere that Mary went 
The lamb was sure to go." 

Senator Flurry — Excellent ! Go on ! Do go on ! 
Deacon Green — (Aside) — He's doubling up his fists! 
(Aloud.) 

" It followed her to school one day, 
Which was against the rule, 
And made the scholars laugh and play, 
To see a lamb at school." 

I don't know no more. Ton my word, I don't, Mr. 
Fuzzy ; I do n't, as a good deacon. 

Senator Flurry — Ha, ha ! This is too good ! How 
capitally you hit off those whining deacons. I detest 
them, and I always want to have a round with them ! 

Deacon Green — (Aside) — He 's gettin' savage ! Oh, 
dear! (Aloud.) — So do I, squire; So do I! But, oh 
lor! I'd like to see the man who would talk agin rings, 
I 'd have his life on the spot. 

Senator Flurry — (Aside.) — Bless me, I'm getting 



46 STERLING DIALOGUES 

shaky! What did Stone say would pacify him ? I 
know. (Aloud.) Now, my dear Koscius, you must gratify 
me with a reading. 

Deacon Green — Oh, but squire — 

Senator Flurry — Nothiug but a readiug will satisfy 
me. I'm getting excited to hear you read. 

Deacon Green — (Aside) — Ned said he was blood- 
thirsty when excited. (Aloud.) Wall, I can 't disoblige 
ye. (Takes up paper.) Here's a good thing, I guess. 
(Reads.) " Gentlemen of this honorable body, I rise to 
denounce a villain who rears his head amongst us — " 

Senator Flurry — (Aside) — Why, that's Bombast's 
speech. (Aloud.) Stop ! my dear sir, stop ! 

Deacon Green — (Aside) — Ned said to keep on, aud 
not give him a chance. 

Senator Flurry — (Aside) — I must near him at all 
risks. (Edges toward Deacon Green, who edges aivay.) 

Deacon Green — " He pretends that in purchasing a 
new site and erecting a new light-house, instead of buy- 
ing his worthless property, that we do the State an injury. 
Gentlemen, what are his motives ? — " 

Senator Flurry — Stop ! 1 wont hear any more ' 
(Aside.) He's getting wild ! His blood is up ! 

Deacon Green — " Gentlemen, those motives are per- 
sonal profit ; personal gratification ; personal meanness ! 
He wishes us to take his old barn for a light-house and to 
erect a tower from the hay-loft — " 

Senator Flurry — Stop ! stop ! 

Deacon Green — "And yet this monster has dared to 
accuse us of corrupt principles, of f-r-a-u-d-fraudu lent pro- 
ceedings, in regard to the Light-house Bill." 

Senator Flurry — (Aside) — What shall I do to quiet 
him? (Pulls his lip.) 

Deacon Green — (Aside) — Jerusha ! There's his lip 



STERLING DIALOGUES 47 

a-comin' down. I feel his fist already. I'll try Ned's 
remedy. ( Grabs his ear.) 

Senator Flurry — {Aside) — He's violent; I'll try 
Stone's remedy. {Pulls his nose.) 

Deacon Green — Oh, Mr. Fusty, don't, please don't! 

( Grabs a chair.) 

Senator Flurry — Let go my ear, Roscius, do ! 

{Does the same.) 

Deacon Green — Do n't you strike me, then, Prize- 
fighter. 

Senator Flurry — Prize-fighter ? What do you call 
a member of the legislature a prize-fighter for, Roscius ? 

Deacon Green — My name aint Roscius. 

Senator Flurry — I 'm not a prize-fighter. 

Deacon Green — Ned told me so. 

Senator Flurry — He said your name was Roscius. 

Deacon Green — I'm Deacon Zachariah Green of 
Squash Hollow. 

Senator Flurry — And I'm Xenophon Flurry, 
Senator. 

Deacon Green — Squire, I reckon I 'm sold. 

Senator Flurry — And so am I ; by Ned Stone. 

[Exit Ned. 

Deacon Green — He said ye was a lion. 

Senator Flurry — He represented you as one. 

Deacon Green — Let's go and pay him up. I'm 
ready if ye be, if I am a deacon. 

Senator Flurry — So we will. 

Deacon Green — Jerushy but ye scared me ! 

Senator Flurry — I never lost my equanimity. But 
come, let us show him that we still are — 

Both — A Pair of Lions. 

[ Curtain.] 



48 STEELING DIALOGUES 



THE CONJUGATING GERMAN. 

CHAEACTEES :— John, an Englishman. 

Jonathan, an American. 
Gottlieb, a grave looking' German. 



Scene I. — A restaurant. John and Jonathan seated together at 
one end of a table and Gottlieb at the other. 

John — (To Jonathan) — Sir, did you hear of that 
celebrated dwarf that has arrived in the city ? 

Gottlieb — (Before Jonathan has time' to answer) — 
I arrive, thou arrivest, he arrives ; we arrive, you arrive, 
they arrive. 

John — (Looking around at Gottlieb in surprise) — 
Did you speak to me, sir ? 

Gottlieb — I speak, thou speakest, he speaks ; we 
speak, you speak, they speak. 

John — (Angrily) — How is this ? Do you mean to in- 
sult me ? 

Gottlieb — I insult, thou insultest, he insults; we 
insult, you insult, they insult. 

John — (Still more angrily) — This is too much ! I 
will have satisfaction ! If you have any spirit with your 
rudeness come along with me. 

Gottlieb — (Arising and following John without any 
resistance; while Jonathan in the rear looks on with sur- 
prise and interest) — I come, thou comest, he comes ; we 
come, you come, they come. 

[ Curtain.'] 
Scene II.— An alley. 

John — (Flourishing a loaded cane threateningly) — Now 
sir, you must fight me! 

Gottlieb — (Coolly disarming his antagonist) — 1 fight, 
thou fightest, he fights ; we fight, you fight, (bey fight 



STERLING DIALOGUES 49 

John — (In a milder tone) — Well, you have the best of 
it, and I hope you are satisfied, 

Gottlieb — I am satisfied, thou art satisfied, ne is satis- 
fied ; we are satisfied, you are satisfied, they are satisfied. 

John — I am glad everybody is satisfied. But pray, 
leave off quizzing me in this strange manner ; and tell me 
what your object, if you have any, is in doing so? 

Gottlieb — I am a German ; and am learning the Eng- 
lish language. I find it very difficult to remember the 
peculiarities of the verbs ; and my tutor has advised me, 
in order to fix them in my mind, to conjugate every Eng- 
lish verb that I hear spoken. This I have made it a rule 
to do. I don't like to have my plans broken in upon, 
while they are in operation, or I would have told you of 
this before. 

Jonathan — (Laughing heartily) — Really, gentlemen, 
this is a pleasant ending to what, a few minutes ago, 
threatened to be a very unpleasant affair ; and we see, 
herein exemplified, two prominent national traits of 
character, namely, German perseverance, and an Eng- 
lishman's determination to obtain satisfaction for insulted 
dignity, whether personal or national. Come ! Let us 
go back into the restaurant now, and dine together. 

Gottlieb — (As the three retire from the stage) — I will 
dine, thou wilt dine, he will dine; we will dine, you will 
dine, they will dine. 

Jonathan — And we '1-1 all dine together. 

[ Curtain.'] 

Note. — Gottlieb's portion of the above may be Germanized, if 
deemed expedient. 



50 STERLING DIALOGUES 

WHERE THERE'S A WILL THERE'S A WAY. 
A DRAMATIC PROVERB. 



CHARACTERS :— Me. Lancey. 
Mes. Lancey. 
Mary, their Daughter. 



Scene.— A parlor. Maey and her mother sewing. Me. Lancey 
pacing the floor and making extravagant gestures. 

Mr. Lancey — It is a vile weed, poisons the blood, 
renders me obnoxious to my wife and children ; I will use 
no more of it. (Throivs something out of the window.) 

Mrs. Lancey — Edward, what is it you are throwing 
away ? 

Mr. Lancey — My tobacco ! Was it not well done ? 

Mrs. Lancey — ( Aside to Mary) — Go secretly and get 
it, he will want it again. [Exit Mary. 

Mr. Lancey — ( Gesticulating) — Never shall that sweet 
daughter look at me with reproach in her face. Never 
shall my patient wife upbraid me. Now at last I am 
" unashamed of soul." Mary, where are my spectacles ? 

Enter Mary. 

Mary — (Placing tobacco on the shelf) — Here, papa. 
(Giving him spectacles.) I found them in a pan of 
milk. But, indeed, you need not have thrown away your 
tobacco. 

Mr. Lancey' — Say not a word ! Do I not know your 
prejudices? "To a father waxing old, nothing is dearer 
than a daughter." It pleases me to do this, nay, 1 would 
gladly do more for my little Mary. Ah, wife, what a 
comfort our children have been to us ! Do you remember 
the first year we were married, how we lived in thai 



STERLING DIALOGUES 51 

yellow house at Nantucket, and ate our meals from that 
little round table, with only the cat for company ? 

Mrs. Lancey — Ah, yes, Edward. 

Mr. Lancey — Not a chick or child in the house. Do 
you remember it, Mary ? 

Mary — Father, you forget, I was not born then. In- 
deed I never saw Nantucket, and the two older ones have 
never been there. 

Mr. Lancey — Yes, yes, child ; what a dunce I am. I 
sometimes think I am like poor George the Third, who 
would have been a wise man if his brains had done him 
any good. (Puts hand to his head.) 

Mrs. Lancey — Dear Edward, how is your head this 
morning ? 

Mr. Lancey — It's a whirligig, it's a top, it's a double 
and twisted locomotive. ( Walks to right and left) It may 
seem very foolish to ask such a question ; but if you will 
be so kind as to show me which is the hall door, I shall 
be greatly obliged. Time was when I knew that door like 
my A B C's. ( Wife goes out with him.) 

Mrs. Lancey — (Returning) — Dear, afflicted man ; I 
fear he grows rapidly worse. 

Mary — But, mother, there may be hope ; let us not 
despair. 

Mrs. Lancey — There is no hope, Mary, in such a case 
as your lather's. Softening of the brain has already 
commenced. 

Mary — It is very, very sad. But, mother, is it not con- 
soling to reflect that this dreadful calamity has not been 
caused by intemperance ? 

Mrs. Lancey — You are a sweet comforter, my child. 
If the present is ever so dark, you turn it around till you 
find a bright spot on it. 

(Bell rings, and Mary goes to the door.) 



52 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Mary — {Returning) — Here is a bill from the firm of 
Comstock & Co. Let us see what it can be. 

( Opens and reads :) 

Dr. For 7 horse-shoes, $ 2.50. 

" 5 prs. andirons, 10.00. 

" 1 bbl. shoe-pegs, 3.00. 

O mother, mother. 

For 1 Cant Dog Beam — 
Now pray tell me what can that be ? 

Mrs. Lancey — O Mary, I do not know ; I have heard 
the term, " cant dog beam " used by lumbermen, and so I 
presume, in his dazed way, your poor father has been 
dreaming he is going to drive logs. 

Mary — And make shoes, too, mother, or why did he 
buy a barrel of pegs ? And he intends to be a blacksmith 
at the same time, hence his seven horse-shoes. Poor dear 
papa. 

Mrs. Lancey — And here we have barely money 
enough for your next music bill, and the new dress which 
you so sorely need. Mary, what shall we do ? 

Mary — Wait, mamma, I have it. The drayman is 
even now at the back yard with his preposterous load of 
shoe-pegs, andirons and horse-shoes ; I will run and tell 
him to carry them all back again. He surely will not 
refuse. 

Mrs. Lancey — Do so, my child. Tell him your father 
is not accountable for his purchases. We must persuade 
Mr. Comstock not to trust him again. [Exit Mary. 

Enter Mr. Lancey. 

Mr. Lancey — I can't find it. (With excitement.*) 

Can't find it. Have been searching these premises 

like a lynx-eyed constable, and I tell you it's gone — '• 

vanished — taken to itself wings. My kingdom for a fig. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 53 

Mrs. Lancey — My good husband, compose yourself. 
What is it you have lost ? 

Mr. Lancey— A pocket full of tobacco. I had it this 
morning, but now it's gone. " Tobacco gone, all's gone. 
Better never have been born ! " 

Mrs. Lancey — (Aside) — Poor man. Who with a 
heart would deny him the paltry comfort of such a thing 
as this ? ( Gives him the paper of tobacco from the shelf) 
There, put it away, dear, and don't lose it again. 

Mr. Lancey — (Putting it in a silver case.) Thank 
you, Emily, with all my heart. Your unwearied kind- 
ness reminds me — reminds me — of a proverb, but I 
declare I can 't think what it is. Perhaps it 's this : " An 
egg to-day is better than a hen to-morrow." 

Mrs. Lancey — (Smiling) — A good proverb, Edward ; 
but not particularly to the point. 

Enter Mary. 

Mary — (Breathless, with bonnet on) — O mother, I 
couldn't make the drayman stop. He insisted upon 
unloading those ridiculous barrels. So there was noth- 
ing I could do but go round to Mr. Comstock's myself, 
and try to reason with him. 

Mrs. Lancey — I hope he relented. 

Mary — No indeed, mamma. He said a bargain was a 
bargain, and if my father had bought a cart load of street 
mud, it would be — 

Mrs. Lancey— Scarcely more absurd. 

Mr. Lancey — Why, wife, why Mary, who has been 
buying trumpery ? Not I. 

Mrs. Lancey — (Kindly) — Some articles you have sent 
home, dear, will be of no use in our family. We can not 
eat pegs, and we have no horses to be shod. Try and re- 
member next time not to make any purchases at all. You 



54 STERLING DIALOGUES 

say your head whirls very unpleasantly, and Mary and I 
ought to spare you the trouble of providing for the family. 

Mr. Lancey — Now, Emily, I can not consent to bur- 
den you so much. It is not only my duty, it is a positive 
pleasure to me to occupy my mind with planning pleasant 
little suprises for you and Mary. 

(Fumbles j 'or door ; assisted by Mrs. Lancey, goes out.) 

Mrs. Lancey — (Sighing) — Pleasant surprises. Mary, 
what shall we do ? This bill is a heavy one. 

Mary — Mamma, I 've been thinking, and as one plan 
has failed us, we must try another. If Mr. Comstock will 
insist upon being paid, why, I can go without my new dress. 

Mrs. Lancey — Bless my dear girl. 

(Bell rings, Mary goes to door.) 

Mary — (Returning, with another bill) — This is for rides. 
Dear papa, he must have recreation. 

Mrs. Lancey — (Holding up her hands) — Fortunately 
he never thinks of driving a horse himself, otherwise I 
should live in continual fear. But, Mary, how much is 
this bill? 

Mary — It is twenty-five dollars, and mother, I have 
already decided that I will give up my next quarter's 
music. It is, after all, a small sacrifice to make to such a 
father (sighs) as mine was once. 

Mrs. Lancey — My heart aches at the thought of it ; 
but really if you can consent to it, I suppose it must be 
done. I see no alternative. 

Enter Mr. Lancey. 

Mr. Lancey — (With old ragged stuffed chair upon his 
back) — Here, Emily, is a pleasant surprise. 

Mrs. Lancey — (Looking aghast) — Why, Edward, 
what now? 

Mr. Lancey — (Throwing himself panting upon the 



STERLING DIALOGUES 55 

lounge) — I brought it all the way on my back. I thought, 
in the words of the poet, " My strength is as the strength 
of ten, because my heart is pure." Still it has fatigued 
me, you see. 

Mrs. Lancey — Then why bring it at all, my love? 
I 'm sure there 's no place in the house for it, and the lum- 
ber room is full ! 

Mr. Lancey — Lumber room, indeed ! Why, Emily, 
this chair is/ a hundred years old. 

Mrs. Lancey — I can easily believe it. 

Mr. Lancey — (Panting) — I bought it at auction, and 
I assure you I had to bid pretty high. 

Mrs. Lancey — I am surprised ! Who could have bid 
against you for such a hideous ruin as — 

Mary — {Aside) — Be careful, mother, you will wound* 
his feelings. 

Mr. Lancey — Who bid against me ? Why the rela- 
tives of the family, to be sure. You must know, Emily, 
this is a precious heirloom. 

Mary — {Laughing, and turning it over and looking at 
the bottom of it) — It is called a loom, perhaps, because it's 
covered with webs — cobwebs. 

Mrs. Lancey — But, Edward, who were the family 
relatives, and where was the auction ? 

Mr. Lancey — The family relatives were the Pickards, 
the Jewetts, and the — the — I forget the names. And the 
auction was at — at — 

Mary — The widow Pickard's, I presume. I noticed a 
red flag as I passed the house just now. 

Mrs. Lancey — (Smiling) — Well, then, this is an heir- 
loom to me, too. Mrs. Pickard, you know, is my cousin. 
I belong to a branch of the family. 

Mary — Delightful ! So you do ! It is not so bad, 
after all. 



56 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Mr. Lancey — Your mother is pleased. I knew she 
would be. But here is the bill for the chair. 

(Gives it to Mrs. Lancey, and exit.) 

Mrs. Lancey — (Reads) — Thirty dollars ! O Mary, 
Mary, I am afraid we shall be obliged to put your poor 
papa in a Lunatic Asylum. You are fertile in inventions ; 
now tell me what we can do in such a dilemma ? Where 
can we raise money to pay for this article, which nobody 
wants ? 

Mary — Dear mother, I can't think just yet ; though 
no doubt the idea will occur to me all in good time. 
Meanwhile, since we feel disturbed in mind, and can not 
sit down quietly to our sewing, suppose we employ our- 
selves in covering this precious heir-loom with patch ? It 
will be a capital lounging-chair, after all, for father. 

Mrs. Lancey — But where is the patch to come from, 
little sunbeam ? (Smiles.) 

Mary — Do n't you remember the drab and blue ? It 's 
in the clothes-press, I will bring it. 

Mrs. Lancey — Not now, dear. Bring the claw-ham- 
mer. We will first remove this ragged velvet. 

[Exit Mary. 
Enter Mary. 

Mary — Here is the hammer. (Examines chair.) Why, 
mother, what is this? There's a hole here as big as a 
bird's nest ! (Puts in her hand.) And here, away down 
under the horse-hair, is a quantity of paper. 

Mrs. Lancey — Take it out carefully. It is probably 
some old newspaper, and its ancient appearance will be 
interesting. 

Mary — (Taking out yellow jxij>ri r ) — This is not a news- 
paper; it is more like parchment. It lias a blue seal and 
a coat of arms. (Reads :) " I, Joshua Board man, being 
of sound mind, and — " 



STEELING DIALOGUES 57 

Mrs. Lancey — Why, Mary, Mary Lancey, that is a 
will ! Give it to me. ( Takes it eagerly. Reads :) " Do 
give and bequeath — " Mary, this is the true will, the lost 
will of your great-grandfather Boardman. 

(Sits down, wrings her hands.) 

Mary — Well, mother, why don't you speak? Why 
do n't you read it ? 

Mrs. Lancey — I am overwhelmed, my child. This 
gives to the heirs of James Boardman, — James, do you 
observe ? — all right and title to the estate, worth — why, 
Mary, it's worth now one hundred thousand. It is the — I 
can't recover my breath, this is so startling — the estate 
unlawfully possessed by the Jewetts. It's — 

Mary — I'm befogged. You are an heir of James 
Boardman ? 

Mrs. Lancey — Yes, sole surviving heir ! This estate, 
Mary, is mine beyond question. This will was secreted 
years ago. I have heard there was a search made for it 
in the days of my ancestors. Now, by what we call an 
accident, it has come to light. 

Mary — Murder will out, and so will a will. Now, 
mother, we can pay for the chair. I told you an idea 
would come into my head. I knew there would be some 
plan by which we could raise the money. 

Mrs. Lancey — I hoped there might be ; but, my dear 
girl, I did not dream it would be exactly in this way. Let 
us be thankful for our great and unexpected blessing. 

Mary — Dear mam-ma, I see now the means of settling 
all our difficulties, both present and future. Every thing 
looks bright. I am reminded of the hackneyed proverb — ■ 

Mrs. Lancey — Please do n't say what it is. Let the 
audience find it out, if they can. (Both bow.) 

[ Curtain.'] 

1(5 



58 STERLING DIALOGUES 



OTHEK PEOPLE'S CHILDREN. 



CHARACTERS :— Mrs. Brown, ") 

Mrs. Green, > Neighbors. 
Mrs. Jones, J 
Howard, Mrs. Green's son. 
William Henry, Mrs. Brown's son. 



Scene. — A street in a country village, in front of Mrs. Green's 
residence; Mrs. Green sweeping front porch, accosted Jby Mrs. 
Brown. 

Mrs. Brown — I say, Mrs. Green, if you want peace 
with the world, and all besides, you may just commence 
this very day, keeping your children at home, for I can 
not, and will not be bothered with them any longer. 

Mrs. Green — Keep my children at home ? Why, Mrs. 
Brown, you surprise me ! I think I should be committing 
a sin, if I should deprive my children the benefit of our 
schools and our religious services on the Sabbath. My 
friend, I am at a loss to know what you mean. 

Mrs. Brown — (Aside) — I am no friend of hers. (To 
Mrs. Green.) Only yesterday, one of my — 

Mrs. Green — I am still puzzled to know what you 
mean ! Perhaps the quickest and best way to approach 
the subject, will be to ask you to explain yourself, for I 
am growing very impatient. 

Mrs. Brown — If you had been half as patient as I 
know I have been, you would have known ere this. As 
I was going to say : only yesterday my second boy, Wil- 
liam Henry, came as straight into the house as he could 
come, and told me your boy made a continual face at him 
all the time he was passing the house. If it had been 
the^rs^ time, or I knew it would have beeo the last, I'd 
have just let it pass by without mentioning it. 

Mrs. Green — If Howard has done such a thing as you 
-peak of, he shall be severely reprimanded for it. I hear 



STERLING DIALOGUES 59 

him now in the back yard, and will call him. Howard ! 
Howard ! (Speaking louder the last time.) 

Howard — (Behind the curtain) — What is wanting, 
mother ? 

Enter Howard. 

Mrs. Green — Mrs. Brown and I are having a little 
difficulty here, and as you seem to be the main cause of it, 
I thought it best to speak to you, and correct you for a 
very great fault that I hear you have committed. 

Howard — Me, mother? 

Mrs. Brown — Innocence, oh, innocence ! (Putting on 
a dreadful frown.) 

Mrs. Green — Yes, Mrs. Brown tells me you have 
been making faces at her little boy, which I think to be 
very wrong. 

How t ard — Why, mother, I can not think when I did 
such a thing. 

Mrs. Brown — Yesterday ! 

Mrs. Green — (At the same time) — She says you did it 
yesterday. 

Howard — I can not remember it. 

Enter William Henry, walking by, with a slouched 
hat on, and both jiockets full of apples that he is try- 
ing to hide. 

Mrs. Brown — William Henry, dear, just wait a minute. 
Didn't you tell me that Howard Green made a face at 
you yesterday? 

William Henry — Yes I jist did, and I'm going to 
flax him for it, yit. 

Mrs. Brow t n — (Addressing Howard) — Now, my 
young man, you have two things to answer for. First, 
making faces at my boy ; and second, telling a plain — 
try-to-get-out-of-it. 



60 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Howard — I am going to confess all that I am guilty 
of. William Henry, what time yesterday did you see me ? 

William Henry — Jist after breakfast, while the first 
bell was ringing for school. 

Howard — (Laughing) — I can now explain the whole 
thing. Don't you remember, mother, how my tooth had 
been aching all the morning, and I had just consented to 
have it drawn as the first school-bell commenced ringing? 

Mrs. Green — I do now, indeed. 

Howard — I think now it is a plain case, without much 
further argument. I was going by your house, Mrs. 
Brown, with hands to my face, suffering very much with 
my tooth, and hurrying to the dentist's that I might not 
be too late for school. I guess I must have looked very 
ridiculous to William Henry, and am willing to confess 
that I gave him reasons for thinking as he did, though I 
was innocent of it at the time. 

Mrs. Brown — Well, we will let that pass this time, 
but what I wish to speak most particular about, is this : 
Now, my children are good children, and never interfere 
in the least with that which does not belong to them ; yet 
I hear a continual complaint about rubber balls being 
missed, and plates of apples being taken. I mean the 
apples and not the plates ; for I consider the apples alone, 
a great theft. Now, I don't want a street quarrel here, 
but William Henry thinks your children are the cause 
of all complaint. 

Mr§. Green — Never make an assertion, Mrs. Brown, 
unless you have positive proof for it. 

Mrs. Brown — {Very loud) — Positive proof! I can 

give — 

Enter Mrs. Jones, hurriedly. 

Mrs. Jones — Good morning, Mrs. Green. Why, Mrs. 
Brown, I was just going to call upon you about a little 



STERLING DIALOGUES 61 

matter ; but finding you here, it will save me the trouble 
of going any farther. You seem to have some business 
on hand already. 

Mrs. Brown — Yes, I am a business person, and like 
to settle things in a business manner. Give in your ac- 
count, and I will square it off. 

Mrs. Jones — Indeed I will, in a very few words. I 
saw your second son, William Henry, just emptying a 
plate of apples that were on the table in my front room, 
and hurry off so fast that I could not speak to him, and I 
thought it best to call upon you about the matter, and 
say to you that he has repeatedly done the same thing. 

Mrs. Brown — Have you "positive proof" of it, as 
Mrs. Green says ? 

Mrs. Jones — I think I have, if my own eyes don't 
deceive me. 

William Henry — Let's go home, mother, for it's 
dinner time. (Starting, and letting an apple fall.*) 

Mrs. Green — Wait a moment, William ; I think jiosi- 
tive proof is becoming visible proof. Was not that an 
apple you let fall just now ? 

William Henry — Y-e-s, m-a-a-m. 

Mrs. Green — (Laughing*) — I think we had better end 
this very unpleasant difficulty at Mrs. Jones' expense yet ; 
for I remember the Golden Rule, " Do good for evil." I 
propose that Mrs. Brown's little boy gives each of us an 
apple, and returns the rest to the rightful owner, keeping 
none for himself; which may afterwards jog his memory 
should he ever think of stealing apples again. 

Mrs. Jones — I consent. 

Howard — So do I. 

[William Henry sheepishly takes the apples from 
his p>oekets, and distributes them.'] 

[ Curtain.] 



62 STEELING DIALOGUES 



GOOD MAXIMS. 



CHARACTERS :— Fiest, a Boy or Girl. 

Second, a Class, to represent Audience. 



First — Pardon a friend who ventures to give 
A few simple rules to assist you to live. 

Second — Go on ! Go on ! 

First — " Early to bed, and early to rise, 
Will make a man healthy and wealthy and wise." 

Second — Good ! Good ! That 's true ! (Applause?) 

First — Better be late than never to come, 
But better, a great deal, be just on the time. 

Second — Good ! Very true ! 

First — Better be poor, and have a good name, 
Than wicked, and wealthy, and blazoned with fame. 

Second — That 's true ! ( Triple applause.) 

First — Pray tell me, dear friends, if any one can, 
The habits and ways of a nice gentleman ? 

Second — Please tell us. 

First — This is the rule, and it never fails, 
He washes and brushes and pares off his nails. 

Second — Good! Good! All right ! (Applause.) 

First — lie never profanes the name of the Lord, 
Is gentle and loving, and true to his word. 

Second — Good! That's true. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 63 

First — He never sips rum, or shuffles a card, 
Or poisons his breath with the nauseous weed. 

Second — Good ! Good ! All right ! 

{Triple applause.) 

First — Is never unkind to parent or wife ; 
But faithful and true to the end of his life. 

Second — All true ! That 's all true ! 

[ Curtain.'] 

Note. — This may be performed with good effect to fill up the time 
while preparing for some longer exercise. 



THE FLORAL GUIDE. 

A HUMOROUS TABLEAU. 

There is nothing nicer for an Exhibition, or other like 
occasion, than a good tableau or two. The following has 
the merit of simplicity at least, and can be made very 
amusing by proper preparation. 

To be appreciated, the flower or vegetable must be 
announced quite plainly by the manager, and acted very 
slowly. 

Characters : — In almost every company of young peo- 
ple can be found a " Rose " and a " Lily." " Bouncing 
Bet " can be represented by a big, hearty Elizabeth, or a 
smaller person of same name, jumping ; " Poppy " by a 
happy papa, holding a child in his arms ; " Lady Slip- 
pers " by showing a pair of those useful articles ; " Johnny 
Jump Up " by some John rising suddenly from his chair ; 
" Rocket " by a little girl rocking a cradle ; " Morning 
Glory " by a sleepy boy, without a coat or shoes, with 
frowsy hair, rubbing his half-opened eyes ; " Pink " by a 



64 STERLING DIALOGUES 

foppish young man, daintily strutting, with beaver, kids 
and cane ; " Tulips " by two pair of lips in greeting, and 
" Sweet Williams " by two boys of that name. 

In the " Vegetable Department " a small boy is poised 
on his head, held in place by a larger one, for " Turnip ; " 
another small boy strikes the first one for " Beets ; " while 
the " big boy " pushes both over, for " Squash," and a 
fourth boy takes handkerchief from last boy's pocket for 
" Cabbage." {Each action to be separately named.) Tom 
standing with eight capital O's pinned to his coat is " Tom- 
a-toes ; " some one displaying auburn hair is " Radish " 
(red-dish) ; and a boy plucking flower from girl's hair is 
" Caul-i-flower " (cull-I-flower). This whole display will 
occupy but a few minutes, and if desirable, may be pro- 
longed by anything a fertile fancy may suggest. 

[Curtain.] 



THE THREE WISHES. 

CHARACTEES :— Queen of the Fairies. 

First Fairy, the Fairy of Truth. 

Second Fairy, the Fairy of Love. 

Third Fairy, the Fairy Youth. 

Other Fairies. 

First Girl. 

Second Girl. 

Boy. 



Scene.— A group of Fairies with hands joined. (They sing 

or speak.) 

A thousand years ago we met, 

Around this aged tree, 
And yet, though years have rolled away, 

A youthful band are we. 
And yet, though years have rolled away, 

We sing our songs with glee. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 65 

Queen — What have you done this thousand years ? 
First Fairy — I 've wiped away unnumbered tears. 
Second Fairy — I 've quieted unnumbered fears. 
Third Fairy — How did you do it ? I could not, 
Though I 'm the bright fairy of Youth, 
I could not cleanse them of one dark blot. 
Tell me, O fairy of Truth. 

First Fairy — I showed them the Truth, and I strove 
hard to win 
Their hearts from the dangerous inroads of sin. 

Third Fairy — And now tell me how, O fairy of Love, 
Men's hearts from the pleasures of earth you could move ? 
Second Fairy — Whene'er I knew their hearts to rove, 
I chained them to the Throne Above ; 
To those I knew that kuew not God, 
I showed their Saviour's pard'ning blood. 
Queen — Come, let us go to earth again, 

Visit together the children of men, 
See which will win — 
Heaven or Sin, 
Truth or Beauty, 
Youth or Duty. 

Enter First and Second Girl, and Boy. {They 
should act as if they did not see the fairies, who should 
all face them. The children should seat themselves 
on the floor.) 

First Girl — I wonder if the story of Cinderella is true. 

Boy — Why, Sis, you never see fairies now. 

Second Girl — No, we do n't, but maybe other people do. 

Boy — Well, if there are any, I'd like to see one — -just 
once. (Queen nods gently?) 

First Girl — Look at that Lily. Didn't it nod beauti- 
fully? 



66 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Second Girl — So strangely, too. 

(Fairies all nod to each other, and to the children?) 
Boy — They all seem nodding — Oh, so strangely. 
First Girl — It almost seems as if fairies were here. 

(Fairies all step forward. Children are frightened.) 
Queen — We are here, 
Children dear. 
What will you have, 
For we will give, 
What you may ask ? 
All the Fairies — A pleasant task. 
Queen — Be not afraid to speak. 
Second Girl — Give to me beauty. Make me amiable. 
Give me wealth and a long life, full of pleasure. 
Queen — These we grant to thee. 
First Fairy — Yet to me thy wishes are 
Vain as searches for the star 
That goes from sight, in darkest night, 
A bright but — dying meteor ! 
Boy — Give me strength, and with it energy, a strong 
mind and a strong body. And give to me, too, a brave, 
open heart. Make me a man. 

Queen — Thy wish is granted thee. 
First Fairy — Indeed, right joyfully, 

Thy wish is granted thee. 
And yet methinks I see 
Something that thou dost lack. 
Oh, mayest thou not, as I believe, 
Ever look mournful back 
O'er the gifts thou didst receive. 
First Girl — Fairy, I don't know for what to ask. 
Beauty must fade, and I would not be always young. 
Give me Love — Love to God, and to my fellows every- 
where. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 67 

Queen — With thee, daughter, we agree. 
All things added unto thee, 
From the God who loves, shall be. 
Second Fairy — Lord, I thank thee, thou hast brought 
To her mind this holy thought. 
Bless it, bless it ! While she basks 
In thy Love-light, what she asks, 
And more, be given unto her. 
(Fairies join hands, and look upward.} 
With the Love 
From Thee above, 
Give them Truth 
To guide their youth ! 
Give them true beauty of life and heart ; 
Keep them afar from sin apart ; 

Guide them, and keep them, 

Safe from harm ; 
Helpless lambkins, 
Under Thine arm. 
[ Curtain.'] 



TUKN ABOUT 'S FAIR PLAY. 

CHARACTERS :— Mr. Fairbairn. 
Mrs. Fairbairn. 

Kitty j tlieir Children. 
Aunt Betsey, a maiden Aunt. 



Scene I. — Parlor. Late in the afternoon, or evening. 
Tom — (Spitefully kicking the ottoman) — " You can 't do 
this," and " you mustn't do that," from morning to night. 
Enter Kitty. 
Kitty — (With a frown) — What were you saying? I 
hope you do n't feel as cross as I do. 



68 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Tom — Cross is no word for it. It's so terribly warm. 
{Fanning himself with his hat.) And I wanted to go to the 
river to cool off. And papa told me to take a book and 
sit still. Just as if that could keep me cool. But what is 
the matter with you ? I declare you do n't look any more 
amiable than I feel. 

Kitty — Amiable is no word for it. Mamma has made 
me dress up in this stiff, clean frock, and have my hair 
combed again, because she says some one may come. I 
want to play in the garden, and I can 't when I 'm all fus- 
sed up in this way, with ruffles, and bows, and sash. I do 
hate company, and clothes, and manners, don't you? 

Tom — Yes, I do. I hate being ordered round everlast- 
ingly from morning till night. I'd just like to be let 
alone. Well, if we can 't have a game of romps, let us go 
down to the gate and see other children have a nice time. 

Enter Mr. and Mrs. Fairbairn and sit down. The 
former tips back in a chair with his paper, the latter 
takes up her embroidery. Aunt Betsey comes in knit- 
ting, with glasses and big apron on. 

Mrs. Fairbairn — ( Goes to the door) — Come, children, 
the dew is falling. You '11 take cold. 

Enter Tom and Kitty pouting, and take seats. 

Mrs. Fairbairn — I believe this warm weather affects 
the health of the children. They look pale and languid. 
They need something bracing. I shall give them a dose 
of iron mixture in the morning. 

Kitty — Oh, my! {Making up a face.) I've taken 
enough now to make a cooking stove. 

Tom — I 'd feel all right if I could go swimming every 
night. Aunt Betsey used to let the nephews who lived 
with her go. 

Mr. Fairbairn — (Sharply) — Aunt Betsey's idea* and 



STERLING DIALOGUES 69 

mine differ. Children are not brought up now as they 
were in her day. 

Tom — I wish they were. Jolly good times her nephews 
used to have. Papa, she has told me about it ; and how 
you used to play with them. 

[Mr. Fairbairn lays clown his paper. Mrs. Fair- 
bairn looks up interested."] 

Kitty — Yes ! And her nieces used to have good times, 
too, when they came to the farm. They used to play 
everything they liked. And were not afraid of soiling 
their clothes ; for they did not have to be rigged up, and 
plagued with company every day. 

Mr. Fairbairn — What do you mean by that ? 

Tom — If you were to be in our places for a day, you 'd 
see what we mean. 

Aunt Betsey — (Smiling) — Would n't it be worth your 
while to try the experiment ? 

(Mr. Fairbairn and Mrs. Fairbairn laugh.) 

Aunt Betsey — (Earnestly) — Why not put yourselves 
in their places for a day, and see how you like it ? I 
think you would understand the case better than any one 
could describe it ; and, perhaps, do both yourselves and 
the children a lasting service. 

Mr. Fairbairn — (Much amused) — Upon my word, 
that 's a droll idea ! What do you say to it, mamma ? 

Mrs. Fairbairn — I am willing to try if you are, just 
for the fun of the thing ; but I do n't think it will do any 
good. ( Children clap their hands.) 

Mr. Fairbairn — How do you propose to carry out this 
new educational frolic ? (Looking a bit worried.) 

Aunt Betsey — Merely let the children do as they like 
for one day, and have full power over you. Let them plan 
your duties and pleasures, order your food, fix your hours, 
and punish or reward you as they think proper. You 



70 STERLING DIALOGUES 

must promise entire obedience, and keep the agreement till 
night. 

Tom and Kitty — Good ! good ! Oh, wont it be fun ? 

Aunt Betsey — As to-morrow is a holiday for us all, 
let us celebrate it by this funny experiment. It will 
amuse us, and do no harm at any rate. 

Mr. Fairbairn — Very well, we will. Come, mamma, 
let us promise, and see what these rogues will do for us. 
Playing father and mother is no joke, mind you ; but you 
will have an easier time of it than we do, for tve shall 
behave ourselves. 

[ Curtain.'] 

Scene II. — Next day. Morning. Kitty enters the room with a 
long dress, and the airs of a grown-up person, looks annoyed as she 
picks up books and balls, saying, " What careless children ! How 
I wish they would learn to be orderly ! " Busies herself with Aunt 
Betsey setting the breakfast table. Mes. Fairbairn enters with 
loose hair, and light cool wrapper. 

Kitty — (Solemnly) — Careless, untidy girl. Put on a 
clean dress, do up your hair properly, and then practice 
this new music until breakfast. 

[Mrs. Fairbairn hesitates, looks as if she would 
rather not, then goes out.'] 

Enter Tom, with long coat, neck-tie, beaver hat, cane, etc. 
Tom — Good morning, Mrs. Fairbairn. Good morning, 
Betsey Jane. Why, where 's that boy? Hasn't he got 
up yet? (Calls at the door:) Get up, get up! (A voice 
whines out:) " Come, — you-let-me-alone. It-is n't-time-vet." 
Tom — (Solemnly) — No, no ! lazy-bones, get up. (Takes 
out his watch.) There, you have been called ; and now if 
you are not down in fifteen minutes, you wont have any 
breakfast. Not a morsel, sir ; not a morsel. 

[Breakfast bell rings, Mrs. Fairbairn come* in 
hurriedly in <i stiff calico, with braided hair, and 
white apron.] 



STERLING DIALOGUES 71 

Kitty — Go back and enter the room properly. Will 
you never learn to behave like a lady ? 

Mrs. Fairbairn — {Looks impatient, but obeys, passes 
her plate) — Some biscuit, and trout, if you please. 

Kitty — No fish, or hot bread for you, my dear. Eat 
your good oat-meal porridge and milk ; that is the proper 
food for children. 

Mrs. Fairbairn — Can 't I have some coffee ? 

Kitty — (Pouring out and sipping a large cup of her 
oiun) — Certaioly not. I never was allowed coffee when a 
little girl, and could n't think of giving it to you. 

Mrs. Fairbairn — Oh, dear ! 

[Mrs. Fairbairn eats porridge with a wry face. Tom 
sits in an arm-chair, reads, paper, and eats heartily. 
Aunt Betsey looks pleased.'] 

Enter Mr. Fairbairn. 

Tom — (Looks at watch) — What did I tell you, sir ? You 
are late again, sir. No breakfast, sir. I 'm sorry, but this 
habit must be broken up. Not a word ; it 's your own 
fault, and you must bear the penalty. 

Mr. Fairbairn — Come, now, that's hard on a fellow! 
I'm awful hungry. Can't I have just a bite of some- 
thing? (Stepping towards table.) 
Tom — (Rises and stamps his foot) — I said — not — a — 
morsel ! And I shall keep my word. Go to your morn- 
ing duties, and let this be a lesson to you. 

[They rise from the table, and all leave the room but 
Mr. Fairbairn. He sits biting the end off his 
cigar, which he has found, after much rummaging 
in his pockets. Aunt Betsey comes in, on tip-toe, 
and slips a biscuit and a cookie in his hand.'] 
Aunt Betsey — My dear, do try and please your father. 
He is right. But — I can't bear to see you starve. 



72 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Mr. Fairbairn — ( With mouth full) — Betsey, you are 
an angel. {Eating very fast.) Do you think these rogues 
will keep it up in this rigorous style all day ? 

Aunt Betsey — I trust so ; it is n't a bit over-done. 
Hope you like it. (Goes out laughing.) 

Enter Kitty and Mrs. Fairbairn. 

Kitty — Now, put on your hat, and draw baby up and 
down the avenue for an hour. Don't go on the grass, or 
you will wet your feet. Do n't play with the baby ; I want 
her to go to sleep. Don't talk to your brother, or he will 
neglect his work. His father wants him to rake in the 
yard. 

Mrs. Fairbairn — Must I, really ? It 's so warm, and 
I want to sew. Kitty, you are a hard-hearted mamma, to 
make me do it. 

Kitty — I have to do it every morning, and you don't 
let me off. ( Getting a bottled) Here is your iron mix- 
ture, dear. Now, take it, like a good girl. 

Mrs. Fairbairn — (Stepping back) — I wont ! 

Kitty — Then Aunty will hold your hands, and I shall 
make you. 

Mrs. Fairbairn — But I don't like it ; I don't need it. 

Kitty — Neither do I, but you give it to me all the 
same. I'm sure you need strengthening more than I do ; 
you have so many " trials." (Kitty looks sly.) 

Enter Aunt Betsey. 

Aunt Betsey — You'd better mind, Carrie; it can't 
hurt you, and you know you promised entire obedience. 

Mrs. Fairbairn — But I never thought these little 
chits would do so well. (Drinking it.) I T gh, how disa- 
greeable it is! 

Kitty — When you come in, sit down, and hem these 



STEELING DIALOGUES 73 

towels until dinner time. I declare! I have so much 
to do, and so many cares, I don't know which way 
to turn ! 

[Evening. — Tom and Kitty dressed to go out riding.] 

Mr. Fairbairn — Can't I go over and see Mr. Ham- 
mond ? 

Tom — No; I don't like Billy Hammond, so I don't 

wish you to play with his father. (Smiling.) 

(Mr. Fairbairn gives a long, low whistle.) 

Mr. Fairbairn — (Respectfully) — Going to drive, sir? 

Tom — Don't ask questions. 

Mrs. Fairbairn — Can 't I go ? 

Kitty — No ; there is n't room. 

Mr. Fairbairn — Why not have the carry-all, and let 
us go, too ; we like it so much. (In a pleasing tone.) 

Tom — (Impatiently) — We can't be troubled with you. 
The buggy is nicest, and lightest, and we w T ant to talk 
over our affairs. You, my son, can help John turn the 
hay in the lawn, and Caroline can amuse the baby, or 
help Jane with the preserves. Little girls should be 
domestic. 

Mr. Fairbairn — Oh ! thunder ! 

Kitty — Aunt Betsey taught you that speech, you 
saucy boy. (Shaking her finger at him.) Now, Caroline, 
I expect company this evening, but I don't wish you to 
sit up. You are too young, and late hours are bad for 
your eyes. Go to bed at seven, and don't forget to brush 
your hair and teeth well, five minutes for each ; cold-cream 
your hands, fold your ribbons, hang up your clothes, put 
out your boots to be cleaned, and put in the mosquito- 
bars. I will come and take away the light, when I return. 
{Exit Mr. and Mrs. Fairbairn. 

Tom — Hasn't it been a funny day? 
17 



74 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Kitty — Do n't think I quite like it, every thing is so 
turned around. 

Tom — Guess they didn't like it very well. I wonder 
if our joke will do any good. 

Aunt Betsey — (Smiling and knitting, with happy 
face) — Wait and see, little dears. 

[ Curtain.~] 



FKIGHTENED AT NOTHING. 



CHARACTERS :— Mrs. Ketchem. 

Lillie, an Orphan, her Niece. 

L E cT'l SchoolGirls - 

Frank. 



Scene I. — A neat room. 
Enter Lucy t and Nettie talking. 

Nettie — Wont that be grand ? But do you think we 
can do it ? 

Lucy t — I guess so. How lucky it is for us, that she 
believes in ghosts, spirits, and such things. But I don't 
believe she ever saw one. Wont she be surprised ? 

Nettie — Poor Lillie ! I feel so sorry for her ; she has 
to stay at home all the time ; Mrs. Ketchem wont let her 
go anywhere ; but I thought, perhaps she would let her 
go to our picnic, when we got it up more on her account 
than any thing else. 

Lucy — Yes, and isn't it too mean, she wont let her go 
now ? But I am determined she shall go, if I can do any 
thing to help her. 

Nettie — But do you suppose Lillie will go, if we can 
gel her aunt's consent the way we spoke of? 



STERLING DIALOGUES 75 

Yes, I think she will, but she would not if her aunt was 
not so unkind to her. 

Nettie — Hark! I hear somebody coming, let's hide 
and see who it is. (They hide behind a table.) 

Enter Frank. 

Frank — (Talking to himself) — I declare it's too bad, I 
wish her aunt was in Mexico. I wonder if I can 't con- 
trive some means to make her aunt let her go — but — 

Nettie — You '11 have to get ghosts to help you. 

Frank — Ghosts ! (Looking around.) Who is that ? 

Nettie — The shadow of your Aunt Betsy Jane. 

Frank — (Laughing) — Why she's alive. Seems to me 
that voice sounds like Nettie Gay's. 

Nettie — (Coming out) — So it is. (To Lucy.) Stay 
there a minute. (To Frank.) And so you too, are won- 
dering how you can get Lillie to attend our picnic ? 

Frank — Yes, can 't you help me ? 

Lucy — (From under the table) — You'll have to get 
ghosts to help you. 

Frank — (Starting) — Well if there isn't another! I 
believe the house is haunted. Who are you ? 

Lucy — The great grandfather of your departed Uncle 
George. 

Frank — (Looking under table) — Come out of there, 
Lucy, you can 't scare me. 

Lucy — ( Coming out) — But perhaps we could scare 
Mrs. Ketchem. 

Frank — What do you mean ? 

Lucy — Let's go out in the yard, and we will tell you 
what a nice plan we have, for making Mrs. Ketchem let 
Lillie go with us to-morrow. [Exit. 

[ Curtain.] 



76 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Scene II.— Time evening. Mrs. Ketchem knitting. Lillie wash- 
ing dishes. 

Mrs. Ketchem — You needn't ask me any more. 1 
say you shan't go. If you tease me any more, I vum, I 
will box your ears. 

Lillie — But, aunt, I haven't been anywhere for the 
longest time, and I will be real good if you will — 
Mrs. Ketchem — What did I tell you ? 

{Jumps up, dropping her work, runs toward Lillie, 

with her hand raised. Lillie dodges around the 

table. Suddenly a knock at the door.~] 

Mrs. Ketchem — Goodness gracious! Who is that? 

It can't be Hezekiah. Lillie, you just wait 'till I see who 

this is, then I will 'tend to your case, young lady. You 

need n't think you are going to get off so. 

( Opens door, shrieks and starts back.) 

Enter Frank dressed as ghost of Lillie's mother. 
Lillie, pretending fright, hides behind chair. 

Frank — {Solemnly) — Mrs. Ketchem, sister of my dead 
husband. Do you treat my child as I commanded you ? 
Speak ! 

Mrs. Ketchem — {Gasping) — Yes. Oh go away, go 
away! 

Frank — Remember I am always watching you. All 
your actions I see ; I know how cruelly you have treated 
my child, and now I will remain here, until you promise 
to treat her better than you have done. 

Mrs. Ketchem — ( Covering her head with her apron)— 
Oh, don't stay, I haven't done — 

Frank— Hush! You needn't attempt to deceive me, 
I know all. Will you promise never more to abuse my 
daughter Lillie? Will you solemnly promise to treat her 
hereafter as your own daughter ? 



STERLING DIALOGUES 77 

Mrs. Ketchem — Yes, I will promise any tiling, only 
go away, go away ! 

Frank — I will go soon, and will not appear again, 
unless I find — 

Mrs. Ketchem — Oh, do n't come again, I will — I mean 
I woDt box her ears any more. Oh ! 

Frank — If you don't let her go to the picnic to-morrow, 
I will appear again, and woe be to you, if I come forth 
again. Farewell. [Exit slowly. 

Mrs. Ketchem — Has she gone? Has she gone suref 

Well ; I suppose I will have to let you go to the picnic, 

after all. {Knock.) Hark! isn't somebody kuocking? Oh, 

she has come back, she has come back ! Mercy, mercy ! 

[Runs frantically around the room, while Lillie opens 

the door, ushering in Lucy, Nettie and Frank.] 

Lillie — (Aside to them) — She is frightened 'most to 
death. It is too bad. 

Nettie — It isn't either. It's just what she deserves. 

Frank — It worked well, didn't it? Didn't I make a 
capital ghost ? 

Lillie — Yes iudeed, but be careful ; she will hear us. 

Lucy — (To Mrs. Ketchem) — We have come again, to 
see if we can 't coax you to let Lillie go with us to-morrow. 
Please let her go. 

Mrs. Ketchem — I will this time — but next time — ■ 

Frank — (In a sepulchral voice) — Remember your 
promise. (All start — looking around.) 

All — Who was that ? 

Mrs. Ketchem — (Nervously) — It must have been the 
door creaking. Yes, Lillie may go. Now I suppose you 
are satisfied. 

Frank — Oh, yes, I can answer for all. But I must go 
now. Come girls ; come, Lillie ; I have something to tell 
you. [Exit Lillie, Lucy, Nettie and Frank.. 



78 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Mrs. Ketchem — Who would have thought it? But 
I always did believe in ghosts, now I am sure of it. I 
believe I have treated poor Lillie rather badly. But it is 
all owing to my rheumatiz, it makes me so cross, but I 
will try and be easier on her. But what are they talking 
so long about ? I must go tell them to finish their chat 
to-morrow. It is getting late. [Exit. 

[ Curtaiyi.] 



"BOARDING 'ROUND." 

AN EXPERIENCE OF THE OLDEN TIME. 
CHARACTERS :— Miss Landen, Teacher of a country School. 

Mr. Jenks. 
Mrs. Jenks. 

^ K ' J their Sons. 

Sally, their Daughter. 



Scene I. — A country school-house— teacher seated at her desk; her 
head leaning wearily on. her hand. 

Miss Landen — Ah, well ! another day's labor in this 
dingy old school-room is ended, and now comes the un- 
welcome question : Where am I to lay my weary head 
to-night? Where shall I get something to satisfy the 
cravings of nature, that is fit to eat? How do these peo- 
ple subsist on food that would disgust a Camanche In- 
dian ! I have been compelled to live on baked beans and 
pork, buckwheat cakes and "sop," until I abhor and 
loathe the sight, smell, or thought of them. And, being 
obliged to sleep in a different house every night, and be- 
ing obliged to " do the agreeable," no matter how weary 
or preoccupied, to such uncultivated, vulgar people, who 
seem to think they are doing a deed of charity, for which 



STERLING DIALOGUES 79 

T must be duly grateful, in giving me a night's lodging, 
and a seat at their table. I declare, it's just like living 
on the town, and worse — for at the poor-house, one has 
at least a permanent home. True, for the last week I 
have had a pleasant stopping-place with Mrs. Sanderson, 
the only woman in the place that lives like a civilized Chris- 
tian. But before going there — at my " boarding-house" — 
there was the alternative of sitting up all night, or sleep- 
ing with two of my promising pupils — whom I could 
hardly endure as near me as the recitation bench, so redo- 
lent were they of grease and dirt. If there were a place, 
within two or three miles, where I could buy provisions, 
I'd rent a room and set up house-keeping myself. I'd 
have, perhaps, twenty-five cents a week left. 

Enter Tom, Lily, and Ike, 'pupils. 

Tom — Say, school marm ! aint ye goin' to our house 
to-night? Mother told me to ask ye if it wasn't 'bout 
time for ye to come ag'in. 

Miss Lakden — {Aside) — Nothing there but the ever- 
lasting pork and beans, and beds alive with bugs. {Aloud.) 
No, Tom, I guess not to-night, some other time I'll go 
with you. 

Lily — Will you go with me again to-night, Miss Lan- 
den? You know mamma is always glad to have you 
come. 

Miss Landen — It is a great temptation. I should 
like so much to go. (Aside.) Oh, if I could stop with 
Mrs. Sanderson all the time, I should be content. (Aloud.) 
But not to-night, dear ; I have already stayed with your 
mother far more than her allotted portion of " boarding 
the teacher," and I can not further trespass on her hospi- 
tality. (Aside.) Where shall I go? 

Ike Jenks- — (Marching up to the desk, ivith hands in 



80 STERLING DIALOGUES 

his pockets) — Mother says she's got to have you to board 
some time, and she wants you to be sure and come to- 
night, 'cause father's been to the "Burg" to-day, and 
she'd rayther you'd come when she's got tea and sugar 
in the house. 

Miss Landen — (Aside) — As well there as anywhere. 
(Aloud.) Yes, I'll go with you! How far do your 
parents reside from here ? 

Ike — How fur do they what t . 

Miss Land en — Do you live far from here ? 

Ike — No, mawm, only a little ways. Just over the 
hill — not more'n a mile and a half. 

Miss Landen — A mile and a half, through this mud 
and splash ! Well, if I don't need the grace of patience, 
I don't know who does. That man wrote nothing but 
truth, when he said, " Job mite have been the pashuntest 
man that ever lived — on biles — but he never taut skule 
and borded round." 

[Miss Landen puts on her bonnet and shawl, lochs the 
school-room, and folloivs Ike.] 

[ Curtain.'] 

SCENE II. — Room in a " back woods " country farm-house. A table 
spread with supper— a dish of meat, potatoes, hot cakes ; around 
which are seated, Mr. and Mrs. Jenks, Sally (in a flaming yel- 
low "polly-nay" and red calico skirt), Jake and Ike, and Miss 
Landen. 

Mr. Jenks — Just fall to, and help yerself, school ma inn ; 
we don't have much manners here. 

Sally — Now, par, do wait on the skule miss. Change 
the plates, do. 

Mr. Jenks — Wal, ef I must, I'll hev to; but it's nuff 
site better for every one to look out for his own bread and 
dinner. (Fill* a ]>I<tfc with a piece of black-looking meat, a 
potato, and a huge buckwheat cake.) 



STERLING DIALOGUES 81 

Mrs. Jenks — Dew yew take your tea with trimmin's, 
Miss Lantern f 

Miss Landen — If you please. Landen is my name. 

Mrs. Jenks — Oh, it is! Well, I didn't understand. 
Tom and Ike, do behave yerselves ! 

Tom — Give me a tater, then, I say I want a tater. 

{At the top of his voice.) 

Sally — Mar, Ike's a dippin' into my apple-sass. I 
wish you 'd lick him, he acts awful. 

Ike — I haint teched it ! She's tellin' an awful whopper ! 

Mrs. Jenks — Go 'way from the table. I '11 learn you 
to eat so, afore the skule mawm. 

[Seizes Ike by his collar, and drags him from the room, 
while he kicks and howls. ~\ 

Mrs. Jenks — {Returns, and seats herself again at the 
table) — How on airth do you ever manage forty or fifty 
sich young-uns? I can't git along with two, and I'm 
allers powerful glad to git 'em off to skule in the mornin', 
and out of the way. Do try and make out yer supper, 
miss — goodness to gracious ! I do believe Dan Jenks has 
given you the griddle greaser ! {Looking on Miss Lan- 
den's p/frfe.) He has, I swan! Now, Sally, that's too 
bad — some of your work, lettin' it drop in. 

Sally — I jist laid it on the side of the meat-dish, and , 
it slid in, I s'pose. 

Mr. Jenks — I 'm done ; aint you, Jack ? Come along 
and help me fodder the cattle. 

[Exit Mr. Jenks and Jack — all leave the table. 

Mrs. Jenks — Now, fly 'round, Sally, and help me do 
up the work, and then git the school mawm to show yon 
how to croshay. 

[Exit Mrs. Jenks and Sally, carrying dishes. 

Miss Landen — How shall I ever endure these horrid 
people until morning ? How can Lever endure this mode 



82 STERLING DIALOGUES 

of existence until the close of the term ? I should like my 
vocation — the teacher's calling is a high and honorable 
one, even in a back-woods place like this — if I could have 
some place to call home. But this wretched system of 
boarding around. Ough ! I wish the man who invented 
it had to live in this way for a ten years' term. 

Enter Sally. Seats herself near Miss Landen. 
Sally — Ef you '11 show me that 'ere croshay stitch, I 
wish yew 'd do it purty soon, for we " go to roost " airly 
here. 

[Miss Landen takes the needle and cotton, and endea- 
vors to teach her, while the curtain falls.] 

[ Curtain.'] 



ALICE'S PARTY. 

CHARACTERS :— Alice, large Girl. 
Grace, ^ 

Katie, [■ little Girls. 
Tottie, J 
Will, an Interloper. 



Alice — Children, we are having a nice time this after- 
noon, and just for a change, suppose we all sit down and 
have a little talk, and each one tell what she would like 
best to have, either for a new plaything, for pleasure or 
comfort. Just think a little first. (All musing. ) 

Grace — ( Very modestly speaks) — I think if I had mij 
wish, 
I 'd have a nice boy-dolly, 
Dressed up in splendid soldier style; 
I tell you, wouldn't he look jolly, 



STEELING DIALOGUES 83 

With suit of blue and buttons bright, 

Upon his head a cap and feather, 

A shiny gun — and on his back 

A knapsack stuffed, and made of leather. 

Katie — That would be nice. Then /would like 
A lady-doll, dressed to my fancy, 
With top-knot, jockey feather, veil, 
And " riding goat," like Cousin Nancy. 
And then some day, when skies were bright, 
And your gay soldier boy off duty, 
They, too, could have a splendid drive, 
To show off speed, and style and beauty, 

Alice — (Interrupting gently) — Now, girls, one thing 
you have forgot, 
To carry out your plans, quite needful, 
A something I have got to lend, 
And you may use, if ouly heedful. 
A nice new dolly-chaise for two, 
And you must be the pony party ; 
I pray you take it when you choose, 
And enjoy it with my wishes hearty. 

Grace and Katie — (In concert) — We thank you dear, 
His just like you ' 
To be so thoughtful, loving too, 
While we are heedless, gay and jolly, 
While planning for each one's new dolly. 

Enter Will. 

Katie — Now here comes Will. I expect he's heard 
All we have said — yes, every word. 
Now tell us what you 've got to say 
About such trifles as girls' play. 



84 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Will — (Putting on an air of great importance) — Well — 
I say : 

Away with all your dolly talk. 

Give me a little pile of money, 

And I will show you something smart 

And worth your care — alive and funny. 

I 'd buy a pair of fine grey goats, 

I 'd have them harnessed strong and gaily, 

I'd have a carriage, too, to match, 

And then, you see, I'd drive them daily. 

I'd take some lady by my side, 

But not a dressed up, lifeless dolly, 

But a real, gay, young chatterbox, 

Just like myselfj so cute and jolly. 

Now what do you think ? 

Girls — (In concert) — We think you're pretty cute, 
young sir, 
And bound to make a noise and stir; 
But when those splendid goats arrive, 
Remember — we '11 be ready for a drive. 

Will — (Leaving the room) — They had better wait till 
they are invited. Can't take so many. 

Girls — (In concert) — What a great man ! A little 
selfish after all. 

Alice — Well, here's little Tottie, she has said nothing 
only with her eyes. Now, darling, what would you like 
to have ? 

Tottie — Me? I want — I guess I want 
A pussy tat, a soldier, too, 
A. little box — a little doll. 

I want most everything, I do. (Aside, softly.) 

But I want to ride with them goatees. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 85 

All — About the goatees, darling, we can 't say, but all 
the rest you shall certainly have. 

Alice — A little more time yet, as the meeting folks say. 
Now for Katie. 

Katie — (Hesitating) — I have been thinking a good 
deal. 
But like dear Tottie, 'mong so many, 
I want most everything that 's nice, 
(I'd want them nice, or else not any). 
I want a dress like Josie Fox, 
I want a muff, a hat and feather, 
I want some ribbons and some lace, 
And a waterproof for rainy weather. 
And then I want — I want — I want — 
Oh, dear! I can't say what — I'm fearing 
You think I am a foolish child, 
And all my talk not worth the hearing. 

Alice — Never mind, we are not perfect yet. 

Grace — The clock says we must go pretty soon ; but 
Alice, dear, has not told us a single wish yet. 

Alice — Never mind now, darlings. I have taken so 
much comfort in hearing you talk that all my selfish 
thoughts have fled away, so we will all be saying, " Good 
afternoon." (Exchange of parting salutations.) 

[ Curtain.'] 



86 STERLING DIALOGUES 



WHO IS THE POET? 

CHARACTERS :— Matilda Evans. 

William Evans, her Brother. 



Scene. — Matilda sits at a table writing. 
Enter William with paper* and letters. 

Matilda — Oh, you're a good brother. Now I will see 
if my poem is published. 

[Ojiens a paper and looks it through. William 
reads another paper. ] 

Matilda — No, it isn't here, and what is more, I don't 
believe they intend to publish it. Well, it is really like 
easting pearls before swine, to send anything good to these 
common editors. There is not one in twenty of them that 
knows a good poem when he sees it. If I were not so 
modest, and unassuming, I would send it to some of those 
periodicals whose editors do appreciate a good article. 
Ah ! here are letters ; I wonder who they are from. 
( Opens one and reads. Throws it down angrily excla im big :) 
Impudence ! I '11 never send them a poem again so long 
as I live. 

William — What is the matter now, Matilda ? 

Matilda — Matter enough, I should think. Just hear 
this letter from that impudent editor. (Meads:) 

Miss Flora DeForest : 

That's my nom deplume, you know. 

Dear Miss : — 

The enclosed poem which you modestly offer us for the trifling sum 
of ten dollars, we are obliged to decline. Your talent for writing 
poetry is, we admit, very uncommon, but as there are already so 
many poets in the literary field, we would advise you to try and see 
if your capacity is not equally good for washing dishes, and darn- 
ing stockings. Yours with great regard, 

E. T. Typeman. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 87 

Matilda — Now, William, isn't that the most provok. 
ingly saucy letter you ever saw ? 

William — I don't see anything particularly saucy 
about it. He merely refused your poem, and gave you 
his professional advice. 

Matilda — Professional advice, indeed ! Nobody asked 
his advice. I'll show him that there's more than one 
editor in the world, and more papers than his little con- 
temptible sheet. (Seats herself at the table.) 

William— What do you propose to do, Matilda ? 

Matilda — I am going to send this poem to an editor 
who does know something. I think he will appreciate it. 

William — Shall I tell you how to prevent the pos- 
sibility of receiving from him a letter similar to this you 
have just received from Mr. Typeman ? 

Matilda — Yes, if you know. What shall I do ? 

William — Keep your poem at home, and follow the 
advice contained in this letter. 

Matilda — That is about as much sympathy as I ex- 
pected from you. I do n't believe I am appreciated any- 
where. (Rises and walks.) There, I have spent a whole 
week upon a poem which an insignificant editor refuses 
with scorn ; and even here, at home, among my nearest 
and dearest friends, where I should meet with the sweetest 
sympathy, I am treated with coldness and indifference. 
" Oh, for some heart to meet my own 
In sympathy and love." 

William — Stop quoting bad poetry. Let us talk plain 
prose. You say you are not appreciated here. Suppose 
you set the example, and commence by appreciating your- 
self. Your powers are not properly estimated, I'll admit, 
but you yourself have as false views of them as any one. 

Matilda — I don't think I understand you. 

William— Let me make it more plain then. You 



88 STERLING DIALOGUES 

have imagined you could write poetry, and sit here day 
after day, spending your time in scribbling sentimental 
songs which do not contain one word of sound common 
sense. The jingle, I'll admit, is well enough; the meter 
is not bad, but what does the whole of it amount to ? 
Simply highly embroidered nonsense. This is why editors 
reject your poems. They have no heart in them. They 
don't mean anything. 

Matilda — Look at my verses about moonlight ; I am 
sure they mean something. 

William — Yes, but let us hear a poem about daylight. 
Get up some morning and write a poem about sunrise, and 
perhaps it will be worth reading. Ah, Matilda, if you 
could only write such poems as Susie does, they would be 
appreciated by the folks at home, to say the least. 

Matilda — Susie ? Why, William, what do you mean ? 
I don't think she ever wrote two lines of poetry in her 
life. 

William — Nor did she, as you write poetry ; and yet 
her daily life is one unceasing, and beautiful poem. No 
wandering, unwilling feet, or discordant syllables are in 
her poems, but a glad out-gushing of pure and loving in- 
spiration is hers. 

Matilda — I know that Susie is a dear, good girl, but I 
never thought her poetical. 

William— That is because you do not understand what 
true poetry is. You fancy that you are a great admirer 
of Nature ; but who ever saw you grafting roses, or train- 
ing a vine? When were you able to name our common 
forest trees by looking at their leaves ; or distinguish and 
name our garden birds by hearing them sing ? Susie does 
this. Who plants and tends the flowers, making our little 
yard a perfect paradise of bloom and fragrance ? Who 
knows where the sweetest wild blossoms are hid, and 



STERLING DIALOGUES 89 

brings them to cheer the weary invalid? Who makes 
moss baskets for the windows, and picture frames for the 
parlor ? Who binds up the broken limbs of lambs and 
chickens, and tenderly nurses them ? Who reads for papa, 
sings for the baby, and resigns her own pleasure always 
for that of every other one ? Who watches all of us when 
we are sick, with unceasing care ? Whose feet are never 
weary while there is anything to be done for others? 
Whose hands are never idle so long as they can minister 
to the wants of a loved one ? Is not Susie's unselfish life 
a beautiful poem, Matilda ? And how much of such a 
poem are you living ? 

Matilda — I can see it all, William, and it is very 
strange that I never thought of it before. 

William — You are not an isolated exception, Matilda. 
There are thousands of sweet, unselfish lives, whose sacri- 
fices for others are accepted by them without even know- 
ing or thinking that they are sacrifices, because made so 
freely and lovingly. 

Matilda — {Putting away paper and pens) — Brother 
William, you have opened my eyes to see myself in a 
true light, I believe, and I thank you for it. How idle and 
useless my life has been. I will scribble no more verses, 
but go to Avork and see if I can 't do something worth doing. 
If I can not write poetry, I can at least help mother. 

William — That sounds like something sensible. When 
you have learned to do anything worth writing about, 
perhaps you will be able to write something worth read- 
ing. At any rate, you may depend upon one thing. The 
person who is not good for anything else, need not try to 
become a poet. That is my opinion. [Exit. 

[ Curtain.'] 

18 



90 STERLING DIALOGUES 



I GUESS I'M THE MAN. 



CHARACTERS :— Mr. Hall, reformed Drinker. 
Mr. Smith, ) 
Mr. Jones, | ral1pr _ 
Mr. James, j Callers - 
Mr. Rice, J 



Scene. — Mr. Hall in his office alone, sitting at the table writing. 

Mr. Hall — ( Taking up letter, reading aloud ) — " My 
dear sister, I hasten to inform you that I shall not annoy 
you any more by hard drink. I signed the pledge over 
six months ago, and have kept it to the very letter." 

Enter Mr. Smith. 

Mr. Smith — (Interrupting reading, with a bow) — Sir, 
can you inform me where Mr. Hall lives ? 

Mr. Hall — There are several families of Halls living 
around here. Which one do you wish to find ? 

Mr. Smith — I don't know his Christian name, but he 
is the father of two beautiful girls. 

Mr. Hall — Keally, sir, I can not tell which one you 
wish to find, as there are two families of Halls, and each 
has two daughters. 

Mr. Smith — Just give me the addresses of both, as I 
am bound to get acquainted with them ; but I do n't think 
much of the old man. 

Enter Mr. Jones. 

Mr. Jones — Good evening. I call to see if you could 
inform me about a family by the name of Hall, and where 
he resides. 

Mr. Hall — Are you acquainted with Mr. Hall ? 

Mr. Jones — No, only by hearsay. 

Mr. Hall — Well, my friend, what have you heard ? 

Mr. Jones — I heard, and quite straight, too, that there 



STERLING DIALOGUES 91 

wasn't a harder drinker in town, and that he would die a 
genuine sot ; but, then, he has two pretty girls. 

Mr. Hall — Hem ! hem ! I guess that Mr. Hall has 
drank more or less ; but, how about the girls ? 

Enter Mr. James. 

Mr. James — Good evening, sir. I hope I'm not in- 
truding. 

Mr. Hall — Not at all, sir ; what can I do for you 
this evening? 

Mr. James — Do you know anything about a family 
by the name of Hall ? 

Mr. Hall — I'm slightly acquainted with two families 
by that name. 

Mr. James — The Mr. Hall I wish to find, I hear has 
two girls just splendid, handsome and witty, but they 
do n't take much after the old man. 

Mr. Hall — What about the old man ? 

Mr. James — I hear he is drunk most of the time ; and 
that he is a sharp, shrewd old man, and never was so 
drunk but that he could keep his money. 

Enter Mr. Rice. 

Mr. Rice — (Addressi?ig Mr. Hall) — Good evening, 
sir. I beg pardon for intruding, but I '11 detain you only 
a moment. 

Mr. Hall — My friend, what can I do for you ? 

Mr. Rice — I just stepped in to see if you could inform 
me about a family by the name of Hall ? 

Mr. Hall — I think I can. 

Mr. Rice — Please give me his address. (Taking out 
his diary.) I believe he has two daughters. 

Mr. Hall — Yes ; but they are quite shy. 

Mr. Rice — I '11 bet I can get acquainted ; yes, and I '11 
bet I '11 marry one of them. 



92 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Mr. Hall — You speak as though you should marry 
one, whether or no. 

Mr. Rice — I tell you I am sure I shall, as the old man 
is rich. Yes, rich as a Jew ; but he has been represented 
to me as being a close-fisted man, and not scrupulously 
honest in all his transactions in business, besides being 
drunk two-thirds of the time. Come, give me his address. 
Mr. Hall — I do not think any of his friends here will 
be likely to get the old man's property — 

[Interrupted by all. Some exclaim — What's that! 
What 's that you say ? Others — Why ! why ! ] 
Mr. Hall — For this very reason, I guess, I 'm the man ! 
[ Curtain.'] 



MISCHIEF. 

DRAMATIC CHARADE. 

CHARACTERS :— Gkandpa. 

KATE™' } Grandchildren. 



Miss. 
Scene I. — Willie discovered whittling an arrow. 

Enter Kate, with school-books, crying. 
Willie — Why ! what 's the matter with my sister Kate ? 

I have not seen her cry of late. 
Kate — ( Throwing down her books) — These hateful books, 
there's not a leaf, 
But what's one constant source of grief; 
I try to learn my lessons every day, 
But the thoughts of sport have drawn my mind 

away: 
From all our childish plays I gain some bliss, 
But when my lessons come, I 'm sure to miss. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 93 

Willie — Why, Kate, that 's nothing — I 've been at home 
all day, 
And what is more, I mean to keep away 
From books and school, till I can plainly see 
Some pleasure there in store for me ; 
Then dry your tears ; for eyes so red as this, 
Are not becoming to my little miss. 

Kate — Do n't call me miss ; I hate the word, 
For which reproofs I 've often heard ; 
This very day, while in the Grammar class, 
My turn came round, I had to let it pass ; 
" What ! " growled the teacher, with a hideous frown, 
"You miss again, and can not parse a noun ?" 

And then she thundered, with her usual sneers, 
" Unless you study more, you'll miss your ears." 

Willie — Well, cheer up, Kate ; no word I speak 
Shall start a tear across your cheek ; 
But grandpa comes, and we must give report 
If we have spent our time in school or sport, 
Unless by some fair chance he fails to ask 
If we have learned or not our daily task. 

Enter Grandpa. 

Grandpa — How now, what do you there, my boy ? 

What gives your fingers their employ ? 
Willie — I 'm making, sir, an arrow for the bow 

That Uncle Joseph gave me long ago. 
Grandpa — And think you that, like William Tell, 

You '11 shoot your arrow brave and well ? 
Willie — I do not know how well he shot. 
Kate — Oh, tell his story, will you not ? 

Do, Grandpa, tell us ; take this chair, 

And I will place another there, 



94 STERLING DIALOGUES 

That you may rest your aching toe, 
And tell his story. Do n't say no. 

[Grandpa sits doivn: Willie and Kate come 
each side.~] 

Grandpa — Tell was a brave man over the sea, 
Who wished to make all his countrymen free. 
The usurper caught him, but spared him his breath, 
On conditions almost as grievous as death. 
Tell had a son, a small lad like you, 
Who was, like his father, brave, loyal and true ; 
On the head of this boy a small apple was placed, 
And two hundred yards the old tyrant paced 
To measure the distance from father to son, 
And show by what skill his life might be won ; 
And he told the brave man that his life he would 

give, 
If he shot off the apple and let the boy live. 
Then the archer took up his trusty cross-bow, 
Selected an arrow as straight as a row, 
Adjusted the string, and quickly it sped, 
Well-aimed, at the apple upon the boy's head. 

Willie — Did it miss? 

Kate — Did it miss? 

Willie and Kate — Oh ! say, did it miss ? 

Grandpa — What nonsense, my children, what nonsense 
is this ? 
Think you the fond father would ever aim 
An arrow that might his only child maim ? 
No, Tell knew his skill, and the apple was found 
In two parts divided ; the boy was still sound. 
Now, children, the lesson — remember this, 
Be sure you are right, and never miss. 

Kjlte — (Aside to Willie) — Does grandpa know what 
made me cry ? 



STERLING DIALOGUES 95 

CirRANDPA — Now, youngsters, go and play, and I 
Will try to sleep, for should I miss my nap, 
My gouty toe might meet with some mishap. 
Willie — Come on, then, Kate, and I will try my skill 
with this. (Holding up his arrow.) 

Kate — ( To audience) — But no one would be hurt if he 
should miss. 
[Willie and Kate go out. Grandpa leans back in 
his chair to sleep.'] 

[ Curtain.'] 

Chief. 

Scene II. — Same as before. Grandpa feigning sleep. 

Enter Willie. 

Willie — (Looks at Grandpa, runs to door, and calls :) — 

Oh, Kate, come here ; here 's such a chance for fun ; 

Don't mope along so slow, but run, Kate, run. 
Kate — (Outside) — Why, what's the matter? why such 
haste ? 

Enter Kate. 
Willie — Keep still, now, Kate, I 've not a breath to waste ; 

Grandpa's asleep, let's play him off a joke, 

As good as e'er his gouty slumbers woke. 
Kate — What, Will, make fun of grandpa ? Sure you jest, 

You can not, must not, thus disturb his rest. 
Willie — He 's slept enough. Now, do not silly be ; 

Do as I bid, and leave the rest to me. 

I'll dress up like an Indian, tall and straight; 

And when he wakens up, I '11 lie in wait, 

And frighten him till half his senses go, 

And gout forever leaves his aching toe. 
Kate — Ha ! ha ! now, Willie, you 're so dumpy small, 

You can not be an Indian straight and tall. 



96 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Willie — Well, well ; then, Kate, I '11 stand up in a chair, 
And say I 'm Chief. 'T will give him such a scare, 
He'll tremble well from sole to crown, 
And think me a chief, and not a clown. 
Now, Kate, stand there and keep the flies away, 
Nor let one settle on a hair of gray ; 
Let not his nose become a place of rest, 
He'd surely waken up and spoil my jest. 

[Goes out. 

Kate — Well, well I'll please him ; but it's my belief, 
When grandpa wakes he '11 whip the little chief. 

(Walks on tiptoe, and brushes away the flies.) 

[Enter Willie with feathers in his hat, bringing a red 
shawl or blanket, a hatchet, bow and arrow, and a 
pair of moccasins. Puts the moccasins down on the 
floor by a chair, gets up in the chair, and fixes the 
blanket round him so that it falls to the floor, and 
shows the moccasins sticking out. Holds the hatchet 
in his right hand, and bow and arrow in his left] 

Willie — (Hands Kate a string) — Now, Katy, draw this 
string across his nose, 
He'll think it is a poison-spider's toes, 
And wake affrighted. Then I '11 play my part, 
And he shall fear the chief or feel his dart. 
Kate — You will not hurt him, Willie, dear ? 
Willie — No, no ; keep silent — never fear ; 
And when he wakes with such a fright, 
My Kate must needs keep out of sight. 

[Kate draws the string across Grandpa's face ; he 
wakes, pretending to be frightened; Willie 
whoops, and Kate dodges behind Grandpa's 
chair.'] 
Willie — (In a gruff voice) — When evil thoughts disturb 
the mind, 
The old man leaves his sleep behinjl. 



STEELING DIALOGUES 97 

And wakes to find his room possessed 

By one who makes no mild request. 

Old man, I am of many braves 

The chief, the pale face idly craves 

Our pity. Stationed all around 

Are scores of men, who, at a sound 

From me, would quick the old man take, 

And burn him at the nearest stake. 

But give me now a bag of gold, 

And I will from your quiet fold 

My braves withdraw, nor need you fear 

That they shall e'er again come near. 
Grandpa — The old man totters near the grave, 

And has no gold to give the brave. 
Willie — My kin have gone beyond the flood, 

The pale face steel hath drunk their blood ; 

Give me thy children, they '11 atone, 

For many wrongs the whites have done. 
Grandpa — Nay, take my life, but kindly spare 

My children's children ; they 'd no share 

In all thy wrongs ; grant this relief, 

And I will bless thee, haughty chief. 
Willie — Your life, old man, is nothing worth, 

Too long hath been thy stay on earth ; 

But, quickly bring to me the youth, 

And I will give my word of truth 

That they shall live. Else I will burn 

Thy mansion, give my dogs a turn 

At those fair children, and let thee live 

To endure the pangs that I can give. 
Grandpa — Since naught can touch thy heart of stone, 

I yield by brutal force o'ercome ; 

I go to bring them — God forgive, 

If I have erred to let them live. [Exit 



98 STEELING DIALOGUES 

Kate — Oh, "Will, how dared you scare him so ? 

He trembles — he can hardly go. 
Willie — (Getting down, and talcing off his 

I thought he'd sooner find me out, 

What could the man have been about ? 

He '11 soon come back, what shall I say ? 

I wish the chief could run away. 
Kate — Nay, nay, brave chief; I bid you stand, 

A coward chief would flee the land ; 

You 've played the chief to scare your friends, 

I '11 be the chief to make amends. 

[ Curtain."] 

Mischief. 

Scene III.— Kate and Willie, as before. 

Enter Grandpa. 

Grandpa — (Severely) — Is this the chieftain bold and 
brave, 

Who kindly vouched my life to save, 

If I would give my children dear 

To live in wigwams, slay the deer, 

Their faces paint, their ears bedeck 

With gewgaws, hung around their neck, 

Or at their belt, the scalps they take 

From slumbering foemen ere they wake? 
Kate — (Advancing half-way, and kneeling) — Grandpa, for- 
give the naughty jest 

With which we broke your sweetest rest ; 

The chieftain then so bold and brave, 

Is willing now to be your slave, 

So pardon us and take for fun, 

What was in purest mischief done. 



STEELING DIALOGUES 99 

Grandpa — Well, well, fair pleader, since you own 
Your foolish pranks, I '11 not disown 
My children ; but will take your hands 
In mine, and give you my commands. 

(Takes them by the hands.) 
My children, you must never let 
Your love of mischief so forget 
What's due to age, that you would willing be 
To hang your grandpa to the nearest tree ; 
But if you should, you 'd better take a peep, 
And be quite sure that he is sound asleej). 

Willie — Ah, grandpa, but I thought you smiled 
When giviug up your children wild. 

Kate — And I was sure you really knew 

Our Will's wild prank, and helped him through. 

Grandpa — (To audience) — Our charade's ended, but 
I 'd like to add, 
That mischievous children are not always bad. 
Their faults lie on the surface ; at the core 
Are many virtues, needing oft no more 
Than some kind hand to lead them on the road, — 
To show them what is evil, what is good ; 
To quietly chide when pleasure lures too long, 
To make them love the right and shun the wrong. 
' Kate — And yet you 'd best, like grandpa, when you sleep, 
For fear of mischief one eye open keep. 

[ Curtain."} 



100 STEELING DIALOGUES 



UNCLE DEAL'S LECTURE. 

CHARACTEBS .-—Uncle Deal, a crotchety old Bachelor. 
Mes. Deal, his Brother's Wife. 
Sceoggins, Mrs. Deal's Brother. 
Eddie, Mrs. Deal's little Son. 
Miss Deeweey, a Caller. 



Scene. — Uncle Deal and his sister-in-law alone in the latter's 
parlor. A knock. 

Enter Sceoggins, who, in attempting to bow, falls over a 
chair ; a bottle rolls from his pocket, which he scrambles 
after and replaces. 
Mes. Deal — {With an annoyed laugh) — He's drunk! 
I say, it's too much to stand. 

Uncle Deal — (Approaching him) — Allow me to escort 
you to the kitchen; you are at present hardly fit for 
parlor furniture. 

[Sceoggins is led off the stage, looking very foolish, 
and making comic bows to the audience.'] 

Re-enter Uncle Deal. 

Mes. Deal — (In a rather loud and excited tone) — Now, 
isn't that ridiculous. Scroggins might be ashamed of 
himself. There is not a finer man in these parts, if I am 
his sister, than Billy Scroggins when he 's at himself, nor a 
worse one when the liquor's in and the wit's out. 

Uncle Deal — H-m. That is usually the case, but I 
thought your brother had reformed, and all that sort of 
thing. 

Mes. Deal — So he had. He hadn't drunk a drop for 
three years, until Swiggins started that abominable tavern, 
right on his road from the shop. There was no manner 
of call for a public-house there ; that is admitted by all. 
This thing of intemperance, it is awful, I say. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 101 

Uncle Deal — Its ravages are certainly fearful. It is 
not on the decrease, though, when a late calculation 
shows, in one of our most enlightened, refined and pat- 
riotic cities, nearly as many groggeries as lamp-posts. 

Mrs. Deal — Well, the men seem to have grown per- 
fectly indifferent on the subject, and what can women do. 
I will head a raid of women against it any time. I've 
read of such things being done, women breaking into 
whiskey shops, rolling the barrels into the street, staving 
in the heads, and letting the whiskey run down the gutter. 

Uncle Deal — That way of proceeding doesn't seem 
to strike me as being very lady-like. But — (A knock.) 

Enter Miss Drewery. 

Mrs. Deal — How do you do, my dear Nellie ? This is 
my husband's brother. ( Turning to Uncle Deal, and 
they exchange greetings.) Do sit down, Nellie, and take off 
your things. I am sure you have come to spend the day 
with me. 

Miss Drewery — Nothing would give me more plea- 
sure if I had the time, but you know we are preparing a 
little surprise for brother Will when he comes home, in 
the shape of a little " sociable " at sister Annie's, and I 
just called to get the recipe for your currant wine. We 
all think it delicious. 

Mrs. Deal — Well, sit down and talk to Uncle Deal, 
while I hunt up the recipe. If there is one thing I do 
brag on a little, Nellie, it is my currant wine. Oh ! here 
comes Eddie, he '11 entertain you while I 'm gone. 

Enter Eddie, a little fellow of about seven years. 

[Exit Mrs. Deal. 
Miss Drewery — Come and kiss me, Eddie, wont you ? 
•—that's a dear little fellow. 



102 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Eddie — No, I shan't, though. 

( Clambers on Uncle Deal's Jcnee.) 
Uncle Deal — Now, Eddie, that's very impolite of you. 
You should certainly kiss the ladies when they ask you. 
Eddie — Would you ? ( They both laugh.) 

Re-enter Mrs. Deal, bearing a tray full of wine-glasses, 
filled with wine, which she hands around. Miss 
Drewery accepts, Uncle Deal refuses. 
Miss Drewery — How excellent. 

[Sipping it. Eddie slyly helping himself to wine from 

the glasses on the sideboard.'] 

Mrs. Deal — (Producing the recipe, and handing it to 

her friend) — You will see, there is a pint of brandy added 

to every two gallons of the wine. Do have some more, 

Nellie. 

Miss Drewery — Oh, no, thank you ; indeed, I must go. 
Good morning, Mrs. Deal. Good morning, sir. 

[Exit Miss Drewery with a boiu. 
[Eddie begins to sing and caper around the room in a 
most extraordinary manner, to the consternation of 
his mamma, and amusement of Uncle Deal, who 
both try in vain to pacify him.'] 
Mrs. Deal — (Perceiving the empty glasses on the side- 
board) — Goodness, my boy! Did you drink all that 
wine? 

Uncle Deal — Yes, I believe he did. ( Taking Eddie 

in his arms, who must now feign sickness.) He'll be quiet 

enough now for awhile, I think. (Lays him on a sofa.) 

Mrs. Deal — (Alarmed) — Oh, how pale he is ! I am 

afraid he will die. Do run for the doctor. 

Uncle Deal— I do n't think it 's so bad as that. The 
stimulating effect of the liquor is dyiug away, and a 
violent reaction is taking place in the child's system- 
Presently he will fall into a heavy sleep ; I think it is 



STERLING DIALOGUES 103 

already creeping over him. There, I was right; he is 
going to sleep. 

[Mrs. Deal draws a deep breath, and resumes her 
sewing. Uncle Deal relapses into a meditative 
silence.'] 

Mrs. Deal — {After a pause) — What in the world are 
you thinking of, Uncle Deal, you look so solemn ? 

Uncle Deal — I am studying out the skeleton of a 
" Temperance Lecture," taking imaginary notes of the 
same. 

Mrs. Deal — Oh, that would be excellent. I wish you 
would deliver it here in this town, and Swiggins would be 
one of the audience. 

Uncle Deal — I have before me just the audience to 
whom I wish to address myself; though, would it were 
more numerous, if it were of the same character. In 
the unmeasured terms in which you have denounced 
poor Swiggins, justice compels me to denounce the domes- 
tic users of alcoholic stimulants. I condemn them in toto. 

Mrs. Deal — ( With some warmtli) — Why, Uncle Deal, 
there isn't much alcohol in a little plain wine. Come, 
now. 

Uncle Deal — Enough to make it intoxicating, as we 
have just witnessed. I insist upon it, if there were no 
refined drunkards, there would not be so many unrefined 
ones. " Total Abstinence " is the only true temperance 
motto. If I possessed the power, I would not only banish 
it from every public-house, but I would first dispense with 
its use in every private house. Come, Mrs. Deal, you 
were a very strong temperance woman this morning. 

Mrs. Deal — What, then, would we do for brandy in 
our mince-pies, and wine in our sauces ? 

Uncle Deal — It strikes me that highly seasoned meat 
mixed with alcoholic drugs, and baked in greasy crusts, 



104 STERLING DIALOGUES 

must be a most trying thing on the digestive organs, 
especially those of children, thus laying the foundation 
for a diseased and depraved appetite, which is the primary 
cause of so much drunkenness. If mince-pies were laid 
under ban, I believe it would be a blessing to the rising 
generation. It is astonishing that, while quackery and 
humbuggery of every sort count their dupes by thousands, 
the simple laws of physical health are so doubtingly and 
scoffingly received by the great mass of enlightened 
Christians. While our youth are instructed in all the lore 
of the ancient classics, they are suffered to remain in the 
grossest ignorance of that most wonderful organism, the 
human frame. 

[ Curtain.'] 



THE FAIRY QUEEN'S DECISION. 



CHAEACTEES :— Hubert, a rich Boy. 
Paul, a poor Boy. 
Nannie, Paul's Sister. 
Fairy Queen. 



Scene. — A sitting-room. Hubert discovered. 

Hubert — (Soliloquizing) — I hope that young scamp I 
met in the woods this afternoon will bring me the nest of 
young robins from the old apple-tree ! Let me see, I pro- 
mised him two dollars, these four silver fifty-cent pieces, for 
them — there will be three for himself, and one to dry the 
tears of little Nannie, who has threatened to cry her blue 
eyes out if any harm comes to them. One would think a 
bare-footed girl had rather have money than birds, and, 
as for Paul, what a nice Sunday hat he can buy ! 



STERLING DIALOGUES 105 

[Enter Paul, in ragged clothes and torn hat, a bird's 
nest in his hand.'] 

Paul — Here 's the bird's nest — the young ones are ugly 
little things now ; but by and by they can be taught to 
sing. I got them without Nannie knowing of it. How 
she will cry ! 

Hubert — Ah, my brave boy ! you will make a man 
of yourself. I see you have grit. 

Paul — It will take grit to get Nannie into a good 
humor. 

Hubert — Pshaw ! pshaw ! she '11 get over it. {He 
places the nest in his hat, on the table.) Here, take your 
money ; the ugly little things will be worth something 
handsome when they can sing ! 

(Paul rattles the money from hand to hand.) 

Enter Nannie. 

Nannie — O Paul, you wicked, wicked boy ! Where 
are the young birds you stole from their mother ? Where 
is the nest ? I say, where is the nest ? 

Paul — O Nannie, don't be a dunce! I'm a boy, 
and don't have any of your squeamish notions. Look 
here, now, you may have this great piece of money all for 
your own ; but go away, Hubert do n't want to see you 
crying. 

Nannie — I do n't care who sees me crying ; I want the 
birds. O Hubert, you ought to hear how the poor old 
birds are wailing, and calling for their dear children. 

Hubert — But they wont come, for all their calling ; 
run home and buy a picture-book with your money. 

Nannie — I say, give me the birds. I watched the old 
ones build their nest ; I saw the sweet blue eggs before 
they were hatched ; I saw the old ones feed those poor 
19 



106 STERLING DIALOGUES 

little helpless baby-birds. Once you were a baby, and 
your mother loved you; do you remember that? 

Hubebt — Remember being a baby! I think not. 
How funny that would be. If I could remember that, 
I 'd try to forget it. A baby ! How very funny. 

Paul — Nannie, come away ! the old birds wont cry 
to-morrow. We will take our money and go home ! 

Nannie — I wish I could see the Fairy Queen, I 'd tell 
her all about this. My story-book says she loves every- 
thing in the woods, and everybody that is good ! 

Paul — You greeny, there is no Fairy Queen; you 
have never seen her ! 

Nannie — No, I never saw her ; but maybe I will see 
her some day. I believe in her. I know she can do any 
thing she wants to, and will punish wicked boys like you ! 

Paul — Nannie, don't get yourself laughed at; there 
is no Fairy Queen ; it 's all a story ! 

[Enter Fairy Queen, a little girl, with gauzy spangled 
dress, a crown on her head, one star over her fore- 
head, and scepter in her hand.~\ 

FAIRY QUEEN — Yes, there is a Fairy Queen, 

And here she is now to be seen ! 

[Both hoys start hack amazed. Hubert, recovering 
himself, tells Paul, in a loud whisper, that it is only 
his sister, who is dressed for a fancy party. As she 
extends her scepter, Nannie devoutly hisses it.] 

Nannie — Good Queen of the Fairies, you who love 
every bird, and insect, and flower, must dearly love young 
robins. 

FAIRY QUEEN — Indeed I do ; no sweeter bird, 

Even in bright Fairyland is heard. 

Nannie — These boys have taken a nest of young ones 

from the old apple-tree. I have come to return it. Dear 



STERLING DIALOGUES 107 

Fairy Queen, make these bad, bad boys do better, and 
please put it into the hearts of these robins to love me 
just a little if I am ragged and barefooted ! 

FAIRY QUEEN — Yes, I swear by my scepter and by my star, 
They will love you, oh, darling child that you are ! 
Paul, throw down your money, hie to your home, 
Or you'll change to an owl, through darkness to roam ! 
Hubert, give to sweet Nannie the birds in your hat, 
Or to-morrow you '11 wake, not a boy, but a bat. 

Hubert— (Hands the birds over to Nannie, and says, 
aside, to Paul) — Oh, my, what airs her majesty puts on ! 

Nannie — (Bending over the nest) — O Fairy Queen, 
you are so good ! What can I do for you ? 

FAIRY QUEEN — Love me, Nannie, only love me, 
And the angels bright above me, 
That are better still than I, 
Smiling downward from the sky, 
Will guard you, and, at death, will come 
To take you to their own bright home. 

[ Curtain.'] 



THE SECOND PRIZE. 

CHARACTERS :— Graham Allcorn, a Tailor. 
Jenny Allcorn, his Wife. 



Scene I. — A tailor shop. Graham Allcorn seated tailor-wise on 
a table, sewing. 

Graham — "Stitch, stitch, stitch, in poverty, hunger, 
and dirt." That's the way it is at this particular moment, 
and in this particular place. I stitch all day long and 
part of the night, and I think Thomas Hood must have 
had my humble self before his mind's eye when he penned 
that exquisite poem, "The Song of the Shirt." Now 



108 STERLING DIALOGUES 

when a fellow works as hard as I do, it stands to reason 
that he ought to make a decent living — in fact he ought 
to live in pretty good style ; but we do n't live in good style. 
My wife has only common clothes, and my children's toes 
are beginniDg to peep out of their shoes. Well, there 's 
one thing I'm sure of — if we aren't rich, we are comfort- 
able. If we haven't plenty of money, we have content- 
ment, and the Bible says, contentment is far better than 
wealth. I guess the Bible is right. Jenny and I are as 
happy a couple as can be found anywhere in the State, 
and the children seem to be happy too. Poor Benny is 
in the dumps, because he lost his place in the class yester- 
day, but that's nothing ; he'll get over that. It will make 
him study harder, and if so, he will get up again. This 
coat is nearly finished. A few stitches more and I 'm off 
for to-night. {Hums a tune a few minutes.) 

Now there's that ticket in the Excelsior Gift Enterprise. 
If I should only draw the first, or the second, or the third, 
or the fourth, or even the fifth prize, would n't I be a rich 
man ? Jenny laughs at the idea of my drawing anything. 
She says all Gift Enterprises are humbugs, but I think she \\ 
wrong. Jenny is generally right though ; but I 'm in- 
clined to believe that she's wrong this time. I think the 
" Excelsior " is all right. Its promises are fair, and I think 
it is able to perform all it promises. 

Enter Jenny, her dress tucked up as if she had been 
working. 

Graham — Halloo, Jenny, coming to see how I am 



Jenny — Yes, it's nine o'clock, and you must be tired. 
You've been working since daylight this morning. 

Graham — Yes, Jenny, I am sort of tired, but you know 
we must work or starve. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 10D 

Jenny — Oh, I guess there's no danger of starving. 
We have enough to eat and enough to wear, and that is 
as much as we need. There 's no use in having piles of 
gold ; it only makes one feel unhappy. 

Graham — Yes, Jenny, that's what I was just thinking 
about. I was thinking that the Bible told us riches 
didn't make people hapj3y, and that contentment was 
rather to be chosen than great riches, and the Bible is 
right, is n't it Jenny ? 

Jenny — Yes, Graham, it says, " Be content with such 
things as you have," and we ought to be. If we have 
gold we ought to be content, and if we have no gold we 
ought to be content. Now, there are the Joneses up the 
road ; you know they 've got a grand house and a grand 
farm, but the people say they do not get along well. 
They are quarreling continually, and the boys spend the 
most of their time in drinking and ganibling. But, Gra- 
ham, I had almost forgotten. Here's a letter for you. 
Benny got it as he came from school, but I forgot to give 
it to you at supper time. Open it and see what it is 
about. (Hands letter.} 

Graham — (Taking it) — A letter for me. I wonder 
who it can be from. As true as I live it is post-marked 
New York. It must be from Higgleson & Co., the pro- 
prietors of the Excelsior Gift Enterprise. (Opens and 
glances over it.) Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah ! (Jumjis from 
table and dances around the room.) It is from Higgleson 
& Co., and I have drawn the second prize. Hurrah, 
hurrah! Why don't you throw up your hat, Jenny? 
Why don't you shout? Why don't you dance? We 
are rich folks now. We are as rich as the Joneses, or the 
Harrisons, or the McNarys. Jenny, why do n't you throw 
up your hat ? 

Jenny — Why, Graham, you are acting kind of shallow 



110 STERLING DIALOGUES 

like. I think you should n't make so much noise until 
you are sure of the prize. By the way, what is the second 



prize 



Graham — It is a farm of two hundred acres in Vir- 
ginia — that rich and fertile State — that home of the 
Presidents — that garden spot of the world ! O Jenny, we 
are wealthy folks now ! We need n't stitch and sew any 
more — we can live without working — we'll lead jolly lives 
— we'll go to the city, and live in a green stone front 
and ride in our carriage, and be as big as the biggest ! 
Hurrah for Higgleson & Co., and the Excelsior Gift En- 
terprise ! 

Jenny — Graham, I believe you are a fool; we'll not 
go to the city. I'll never live in the city. I very much 
doubt whether your prize is of any account, but, if it is, 
we'll not sell it and go to the city ; that I'm sure of. Do 
you think I 'm a fool ? I reckon I know what I'm doing. 
I '11 live in the village ; I '11 have a nice little house on 
Main street ; but as for going to the city, I '11 never go, so 
that's settled. 

Graham — Well, Jenny, I guess we'll see about that. 
I guess I'm boss here. Who bought the ticket ? I 'd like 
to know, and who owns the farm ? I 'd like to know. I 
guess I can do as I please with my own property. I '11 
show you if I can 't. 

Jenny — And I '11 show you. I am not going to allow 
you to go to the city, for if you do, you'd take to drink- 
ing' and gambling just like the Jones boys, and you'd soon 
be on the broad road that leads to destruction. You 're 
on that road now, Graham, and it is hard to tell what will 
become of you. 

Graham — Hold your tongue, I say, and leave the 
room. 

Jenny — Yes, that 's the way it is. ( Crying.) Oh, has 



STERLING DIALOGUES 111 

it come to this ? I am told to hold my tongue and leave 
the room. Well, I'll go right home to my father's, and 
then you '11 see how fast you '11 go down hill. 

[Exit crying. 
Graham — What a dunce that woman is. She must 
kick up a fuss just about nothing at all. But she wont 
go to her father's, I know. I wouldn't care if she did. 
But I'll be off to bed now, and off to New York early in 
the morning. [Exit. 

[ Curtain.'] 

Scene II.— A room in Gkaham Allcoen's house. 
Enter Graham Allcorn, carpet-bag in hand. 
Graham — Home again, and a pretty wild-goose chase 
I've had of it. Wont Jenny crow when she hears it 
all ? By the way, I wonder where she is. She certainly 
wouldn't put that foolish threat of hers into execution, 
and go to her father's. It would make the old gentleman 
rage like a thunder-storm on a summer's evening. I sup- 
pose the children are at school. Well, I 've been to school 
too, and learned a hard lesson, and a lesson I '11 not soon 
forget. But here she comes ! 

Enter Jenny. 

Graham — Jenny, how do you do ? Are n't you glad 
to see me ? 

Jenny — No ; why should I be, when you told me to 
shut my mouth and leave the house ? 

Graham — Ah, Jenny, so I did, but I was angry. 
• Can 't you forgive me ? And if you will, I '11 forgive you 
for talking so fiery to me. You know you rained it down 
pretty strong. 

Jenny — Why don't you tell me about the second 



112 STERLING DIALOGUES 

prize? Did you sell the farm and buy a brown stone 
front, and a carriage, and a new suit ? Tell me all about it. 

Graham — Ah, Jenny, I'm a sold man. The farm 
is n't worth a dollar. 

Jenny — Why, how does that come ? Did n't you say 
it was valued at fifty thousand dollars ? I suppose you 
didn't let Higgleson & Co. cheat you out of it? 

Graham — Cheat! no! I'd like to twist their necks 
for them. The farm is made up of rocks and mountains, 
and isn't worth a copper. Hold on, Jenny, and I'll tell 
you all about it. I went to New York, as you know ; 
and as soon as I got there, I rushed to the "Excelsior" 
office, and made some inquiries about the second prize. 
I tried to sell the farm to Higgleson & Co., at their valua- 
tion of it, and they laughed in my face. I then came 
down in my price, again and again, and finally offered it 
to them for five dollars. They said they didn't want it, 
and would n't have it. I gave them a piece of my mind, 
and then I came home ; and here I am, less ten dollars in 
my pocket. 

Jenny — And so your visions of a city life, and a brown 
stone front, have vanished. 

Graham — Truly they have, Jenny. Now, don't be 
old-womanish, and say, " I knew it would be so," but 
forgive me, and let us go on in the old way. 

Jenny — I am willing, Graham, and I rejoice that it 
has turned out as it has. While we owned the two hun- 
dred acres, worth fifty thousand dollars, we were unhappy. 
We quarreled just like the rich Joneses up the road. 
Now we are poor again, and we'll be as happy as the 
days are loDg. 

Graham — Yes, Jenny, and we'll never forget the 
lesson of the " Second Prize ! " [Exit, 

[ Curtain.'] 



STERLING DIALOGUES 113 

WASHINGTON'S VISION. 

A TABLEAU. 

r<-n- a -d a nrp-17-pQ . I Thieteen Young Ladies, repre- 
CHAKAClLKb .- | senting the thirteen Colonies. 

Faith. 

Hope. 

Goddess of Liberty. 

Washington. 

COSTUMES. — The young ladies, representing the thirteen Colonies, 
should he dressed in black, badges of mourning ; a silver band en- 
circling the head of each, upon which is printed the name of the 
Colony which she represents. 

Faith and Hope, white dresses, spangled with silver or gold- 
colored stars. Paper of the same color, cut to imitate wings, pinued 
upon the shoulders. Bands upon the heads, with Faith printed 
upon one, and Hope upon the other. 

Goddess op Liberty, with a blue trailing dress, white over- 
skirt, and a red sash ; a scalloped band upon the head, upon which 
is printed, Liberty. A United States flag in her hand. 

Washington, dressed in black coat and pants, and white vest ; 
pants short, buckled just below the knee, with a steel or silver 
buckle ; long, white stockings, low shoes and steel buckles. 



Scene.— A sleeping apartment. Washington upon a couch, asleep. 
Colonies, at a short distance from the couch, standing in a semi- 
circle, forms slightly bowed, looking down upon the floor. A 
chain, extended in front of them, as if fastened upon the wrists of 
the Colonies, but so arranged that it can be dropped instantly. 

[Let some one behind the Curtain read these words : ] 

"I am weary with my groaning. All the night I 

water my couch with my tears. Mine eye is consumed 

because of grief. The enemy persecutes my soul ; yea, he 

treads down my life upon the earth ; he lays mine honor 

in the dust. I am troubled, I am bowed down greatly. 

I go mourniDg all the day long. I have roared by reason 

of the disquietness of my heart." 

[Enter Hope and Faith, walking to the head of 
Washington.] 
Hope — (Bending down, apparently whispering in his 
ear, while these words are read:) — "Why art thou cast 



114 STERLING DIALOGUES 

down, O Washington ? Why is thy soul disquieted within 
thee? Hope thou in God, for thou shalt yet praise Him 
for the help of His countenance." 

Faith — (Pointing upwards, while the reader continues :) 
— "I cried unto the Lord with my voice, and He has 
heard me out of His holy hill. I will not be afraid of ten 
thousand of people that have set themselves against me 
round about. Thou wilt save the afflicted people. Thou 
wilt bring down high looks. Blessed be the Lord God, 
who doeth wondrous things. By Him I can run through* 
a troop, and by my God can I leap over a wall. He 
teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight. I 
have pursued my enemies, and overtaken them. I shall 
not turn back until they are consumed. They have fallen 
under my feet, and are not able to rise. The chains of 
oppression are broken, and I am delivered from their 
power." 

[Chains fall from Colonies. Faith and Hope vanish 
quickly.'] 

Enter Goddess of Liberty. 

[Goddess of Liberty, waving banner, takes her 
stand at the head of Washington. Colonies sur- 
round the couch. Goddess of Liberty waves 
banner over all, ivhile they sing the " Star Spangled 
Banner." Instrumental music, if desired.] 

[ Curtain.] 



STERLING DIALOGUES 115 



CURING AN INVALID. 

CHARACTERS :— Axjnt Jane, an Invalid. 
Julia, ~) 

Ida, > her Nieces. 

Amanda, J 
Mrs. Green, Neighbor. 



Scene. — A neatly furnished room ; an old lady in an easy chair. 

Aunt Jane— Well, here I am left all alone, and just 
as sick as I can be, and them good-for-nothing girls gad- 
ding about somewhere, and I'll declare, it's 'most eight 
o'clock, and I've no breakfast yet. Well, well, well, that's 
what I call gratitude, after all I 've done for them. I '11 
not put up with it; so there. (She rings violently, and 
calls Mandy, Idee, and Juley.) Can't some of you 
come? 

Enter three girls. Julia, with a wash bowl of water and 
a white towel, kneels down for Aunt Jane to ivash. 
Amanda with a fan. Ida, with a comb and brush, 
combs Aunt Jane's hair. 

Amanda — {Fanning her aunt) — Why, aunt, are you 
well enough to be up so early this morning ? 

Aunt Jane — Up so early ! I should think it wasn't so 
early, when I 've been up three mortal hours ! 

Ida — Oh, aunt, three hours ! 

Aunt Jane — (Snappishly) — Yes, three hours. What 
is there strange about that ? 

Julia — It isn't eight yet, aunt, and you told us to call 
you at eight. 

Aunt Jane — Well, what if I did ? You might have 
looked in to see if I wanted anything. 

Ida— -I did come in at six, and at quarter after seven, 
and you were sound asleep — 



116 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Amanda — And snoring away like everything. O aunt, 
what a funny snore you've got ! 

Aunt Jane — Snoring, snoring ! Oh, you wicked little 
wretch. I never did snore in my life. Never, never. 

All the Girls — (Laughing) — We thought you did. 

Aunt Jane — Thought I did ! Well, perhaps you think 
I don't want anything to eat to-day. 

Julia — Oh, yes, aunt, I have your breakfast almost 
ready. 

Aunt Jane — And pray what have you got to make 
such a fuss about ? 

Julia — Tea, toast, fresh eggs, — 

Aunt Jane — There now, I knew it. I never can have 
anything I want. 

Ida — What do you want, aunt? 

Aunt Jane — I want some gruel, and you all know 
that. 

Julia — Yes, aunt, and I have gruel, too. 

Aunt Jane — Well, for mercy's sakes, why did n't you 
say so ? Go and bring it ; do n't stand there all day. 

(Julia goes out, but soon returns with a bowl.) 

Julia — Here is your gruel, aunt, and I do wish you 
would try to eat the toast and eggs. 

Aunt Jane — (Taking the bowl, tasting daintily) — Here, 
take it away ; it 's as salty as brine. Mercy, mercy me ! 
Oh, dear ! 

[Julia goes out, but soon returns with a nice, tempting 
breakfast on a large waiter, covered with a white 
cloth.'] 

Julia — Here, aunt, is your breakfast, and some fresh 
gruel I hope you can eat. 

Aunt Jane — (Tasting again) — O Juley, it haint a 
single bit of salt in it now. Was there ever such a poor, 
neglected creature as I am ! 



STERLING DIALOGUES 117 

Ida — Dear aunt, do try to eat something. Julia spent 
nearly all the morning trying to cook you something nice. 

Amanda — Yes, and I took some of old Skinflint's 
apples for you. 

Aunt Jane — You did, hey ? And pray, who gave you 
permission to take other people's apples ? 

Julia — I asked Mr. Green for them. 

Amanda — And he told us to take as many as we wan- 
ted, and when I went to get them, old Skinflint (his wife, 
you know) squalled out at me to let her apples alone. O 
aunt, if you was such an old, mean, stingy thing as she is, 
I'd, I'd— 

Aunt Jane — Well, miss, what would you do ? 

Amanda — I 'd get married, that I would. Why, aunt, 
she ordered me home, and said I was stealing her apples, 
and she would call and tell you on me to-day. 

Aunt Jane — She did, hey ? Well, let her come, we 
will see. Let her tell me you stole ! (Aunt Jane eats 
heartily, drinks her gruel, and keeps repeating to herself :) 
My girls steal ! We '11 see.) {Some one knocks.) 

Aunt Jane — Here, girls, take this away. Idee, give 
me my walking stick. We'll see. My girls steal, 
indeed ! [Exit Julia, Ida and Amanda. 

Enter Mrs. Green, a tall, lean, lanky, shabby -looking 
woman, with a pipe in her mouth. 

Aunt Jane — Good morning, Mrs. Green. 

Mrs. Green — Good morning. I haint no time to stop. 
I jist stepped over to tell you that your girls has been in 
my orchard a — 

Aunt Jane — Just stop a moment, Mrs. Green. You 
might say something that would hurt my feelin's; I'm 
tender, been sick, you know ; besides, I want to know who 



1 1 8 STERLING DIALOGUES 

stayed with you and sat up of nights to let you sleep, when 
you was broke down, a-waiting on your sick old man last 
summer ? 

Mrs. Green — You did, ma'am, but — 

Aunt Jane — Hold on ; who stayed with you? who 
carried you butter, fresh eggs, and so on, when you had 
none? 

Mrs. Green — Your girls. 

Aunt Jane — Who helped you drive the cattle out of 
your orchard ? Who lifted heavy rails to fix the fence, 
when your old man was down ? 

Mrs. Green — Your girls ; but it do n't become you to 
be a tellin' — 

Aunt Jane — Well, now, I want you to shet up and go 
home, and remember, if I scold my girls, I do n't 'low no- 
body else to scold them. 

Mrs. Green — I will have my say, 'low or no 'low. If 
they did do all that, I haint gwine to have them a steal in' 
my apples — 

Aunt Jane — (Jumping up, drives Mrs. Green out of 
the room, whipping her over the shoulders with her walking 
stick) — Steal ! my girls steal, hey ? Steal indeed ! 

( The three girls come from behind a screen laughing.) 

Amanda — Our aunt dined, drank grew-well {gruel), 
and whipped Mrs. Green ! Hurrah for Aunt Jane ! 

[ Curtain.'] 



STERLING DIALOGUES 119 

LITTLE FOLK'S OPINIONS. 

CHA^CTERS^™^ ^ JTwolittleGirls. 



Scene. — Annie and Birdie, sitting very close together. 

Annie — Didn't you know, Birdie, I'se dot a new dol- 
lie ? My dranmuzzer div it to me on Tris'mas day. 

Birdie — And I 'se dot a new dollie, too, and a pair of 
new shoes, and a 'ittle box and a tup and a saucer, and 
ever so many ozzer tings. Oh, my, but I does have the 
fun a-p'ayin' wiz zem. 

Annie — Turn down to our house some day, and I'll 
show you my new dollie and a whole heap of ozzer tings. 
My dollie 's dot sich pitty eyes and sich rosy cheets, and 
oh, sich a funny nose. It dist mates me feel dood all 
over to loot at it. 

Birdie — It was my Untie Don yat dive me my new 
dollie. I tell 'oo my Untie Don is a real nice old man, 
I like him, oh, ever so much. Last Fantsdiven' he buyed 
a bid turkey and div it to ma, and she would a tooked it 
for a Fantsdiven' dinner, but her and pa, and Untie Don 
and me was inyited to do to a Fantsdiven' up at Untie 
Yeuben's, and so we didn't have our turkey, for Untie 
Yeuben's folts said we must besoor and do, and ma said 
Aunt Yachel and Untie Yeuben would both be hoppin' if 
we did n't do. I did n't know yat Aunt Yachel and Untie 
Yeuben tould hop. I dis tought it was 'ittle folts like you 
and me yat hops, and when I yent down on Fantsdiven' 
I ast Aunt Yachel and Untie Yeuben if dey had been 
a hoppin' any lately. Untie Don he jist laughed and 
laughed, and Aunt Yachel said dey used to pay at hop, 
step and jump when dey was 'ittle, but dey hadn't p'ayed 
any at it yately. Then Untie Don he jist ho-hoed and 



120 STERLING DIALOGUES 

haw-hawed awful, and Untie Yeuben said he did n't sink 
there was much to laugh about. I'd ast more about the 
hoppin', but muzzer toot me out of the room awful twick 
jist lite she tot I was sit or had the tolic or somethin'. 
When we was out she telled me not to say nussin' more 
about the hoppin', and I didn't say nussin' more 'bout it. 

Annie — We had a turkey on Fantsdiven', too, and it 
was a dolly big feller. Our .Harry he's dot to sayin' big 
words now, and he said it was a rooter. I don't know 
what a rooter is, blit muzzer said for Harry to hush and 
not say sich words as yat. Harry said it was n't a swear- 
word, but muzzer wouldn't a'yow him to say it anyhow, 
as it wasn't a nice word. Harry said he dot it from 
Frank Dones, and I des Frank's a nice enough boy. He 
smotes a cidar, and is dittin' to feel pitty big. Harry said 
Frank was talkin' about Mr. Smith, and he said he was a 
rooter. I do n't lite 'ittle boys as smotes cidars, do you ? 

Birdie — No, I'm soor I don't. Cidars mates boys 
have sich a bad smell. I hate the smell of tobatto. My 
Untie Don smotes. I sink I'd lite him a dood 'eal better 
if he wouldn't smote. 

Annie — I dess I '11 have to do home now. Let us do 
and see if our muzzers are still talkin' to each ozzer. My ! 
but dey do talk fast when dey dit togezzer. 

Birdie — Annie, I lites you a heap, and I'se doin' to 
dive you sumsin. 

Annie — You are ! Oh, doodie ! what is it ? 

Birdie — Turn on and I'll so it to you. I tink you'll 
be so dlad you '11 dump up and down. [Exit. 

[ Curtain.'] 



STERLING DIALOGUES 121 



THE DOCTOR'S CHOICE. 



CHARACTERS : — Maey Lowe, a poor Dress-maker. 
Maggie, her invalid Sister. 
Miss Smith, Lady of fashion. 
De. Dane, Maggie's physician, and admirer of 

Miss Smith. 



SCENE I. — A plain room in a dark, narrow street. 

Maggie — I've been thinking, sister Mary, of our old 

home on the hill, 
Where your face was round and rosy, and the nights 

were always still ; 
I'm so wearied, since this illness, of the loud talk in the 

street, 
Of the roll of wagons past the house, and the constant 

tramp of feet. 
I'm so tired, Mary, tired, that the fretful words will 

come ; {Anxiously.) 

Why wont you leave this noisy place — why wont you 

take me home? 

Mary — Why, my dear child, how grieved I am to hear 
these words from you ! (Lays aside her work) 

I '11 lay aside my work awhile. What would you have 
me do ? 

You will not grieve me long, I 'm sure, by these impatient 
ways ; 

You know the same God rules the storm that rules the 
pleasant days. 

Have you forgotten Him whose love has been the or- 
phan's stay, 

And that it is the same wise love that's darkened all 
the way ? 
20 



122 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Maggie — No, Mary, no, I know 'tis so; but sinful 

thoughts will come, 
When I lie helpless, watching you, and think of our old 

home. 
You know there was no sickness there, you did not toil 

for bread; 
And what was once all light and love, is want and pain 

instead. 

Mary — But God has wrought this change, my child, 
we would not wish it so. 

Should we question what He does ? He can not err, you 
know. 

No, darling, though this fearful night be deep, and dark, 
and long, 

Though we be weary on the way, God's grace shall make 
us strong. 

Now close those aching eyes awhile, for I must work to- 
night ; 

Trust all the future to our God, we know He '11 make it 
right. {Some one taps lightly and opens the door.) 

Enter Miss Smith. 

Miss Smith — Good evening, Miss : I 've called to see 
if all my work 's complete ; 
I sadly fear I 've soiled my skirts on this dark, narrow 
street {Shakes her clothes.) 

Mary — {Setting a chair) — I 'm grieved, Miss Smith, to 
say to you what I have said to none ) 
The work I promised you to-night now lies but partly done. 

Miss Smith — {Angrily) — Is that so, Miss? indeed, 
indeed ! 
I wonder what excuse you '11 plead. 



STEELING DIALOGUES 123 

Mary — Miss Smith, my sister, being ill, has called for 
constant care ; 
I've given your dress all the time that this sick child 
could spare. 

Miss Smith — Well, I can 't be put off like this ; since 

illuess takes your time, 

You best had tend the sick one's needs, nor strive to tend 

to mine. {Sits down.) 

Please do my work up, nor expect, for work you 've done 

before, 
Remuneration, since the task of having this made o'er. 

{Shakes the half-finished dress.) 

Mary — {With some excitement) — Young lady, wait, 
please hear me through ; not for myself I speak, 

But for my suffering sister there, so pale, so frail and 
weak. 

Day after day I've planned and toiled through this hard, 
trying spring, 

To appease a poor, sick sister's wants by what this toil 
would bring. 

And has it been in vain, Miss Smith, must this child suf- 
fer on, 

Because my hands have failed to do all that you would 
have done ? ( Weeps.) 

Miss Smith — ( Taking out her purse) — Ah ! quite a 
scene indeed, indeed ! Here is a silver dime, 
'Twill buy you bread for quite a while, and keep you for 
a time. 

Mary — {Looking up with indignation) — I am not asking 
alms, Miss Smith, and each cent should be spurned, 
From your full purse, uuless it's what you justly think 
I've earned. 



124 STEELING DIALOGUES 

Door opens, and Dr. Dane enters. 
Miss Smith — (Rising and appearing to be confused)— 
You here, indeed ! how shocked I am ! I really can 
not see — 

Dr. Dane — (Smiling and shaking hands) — And I am 

equally'snrprised that this strange thing should be. 

( Turning suddenly to Mary, exclaims :) 

And what means this, my friend? These tears — is my 

young patient worse ? 

(Looks at Maggie and smiles.) 

You know the blues will never do for doctor or for nurse. 

( Goes to Maggie, who is also weeping.) 

What means this, ladies ? Pray explain — why this great 

grief to-day ? 
i think it 's best that I should know ; explain it, Nettie, 
pray. (Turning to Miss Smith.) 

Miss Smith — (Curling her lip scornfully) — I do not 
feel in duty bound to explain pauper grief, 
Nor give an inexperienced guess at what might bring 
relief. 

Dr. Dane — (Appearing grieved ) — Miss Smith — 
Annette — I am shocked ! This talk will never do. 

Mary — Dr. Dane, 'tis proper, sir, I should explain to 
you. 
I have been sewing several weeks for this young lady, sir, 
I'd promised work complete to-night, and I've disap- 
pointed her. 

Miss Smith — (Rising) — Please have my work all 
ready, Miss, my servant soon will call ; 

(To Dr. Dane.) 
I'll leave here now — then, Dr. Dane, you'll hear the 
story all. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 125 

Mary — {Quietly) — You judge unjustly ; truly, ma'am, 
I 've nothing more to say ; 
Your work I '11 see is well prepared when the servant 
calls. Good-day. 

(Miss Smith bows superbly and goes out) 

[ Curiam.'] 
Scene II. — Maggie sits up looking brighter. 

Enter Dr. Dane, smiling. 

Dr. Dane — Ah ! better, Maggie — this I know by the 
bright light in your eyes — 

Full well enough, your sister says, for a wonderful sur- 
prise. 

You know your old home on the hill, you've loved so 
well and long, 

I 've bought that very place to-day — this news must make 
you strong ; 

Because — oh, here's the lady now, all blushes, too, you 
see, 

Who 's promised to be mistress there, {taking her hand,) 
and walk through life with me. 

Maggie — {With much confusion) — Why, Mary — Dr. 
Dane — indeed! I thought Miss Smith — you 
know — 

Dr. Dane — Yes, my dear child, we understand, and 

rejoice that 'tis not so. 
Maggie, that lady's real, true heart, in its benighted state, 
Was, happily, unveiled to me before it was too late. 
Her proud and selfish ways, my child, God meant they 

should be learned ; 
But the measure that she's meted out we would not 

wish returned. 



I 26 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Mary — No, while we are offering thanks to-day, for 
this great joy we find, 
We'll pray that Heaven's pure, perfect rays may pierce 
her darkened mind. 

[ Curtain.'] 



THE UN w ELCOME GUEST. 



CHARACTERS :— Edward Simpson. 

Mrs. Emeline Simpson, his Wife. 
John Simpson, his Brother, and a Guest. 
Martin Jones. 
Mrs. Eliza Jones, his Wife. 



Scene.— A room in Edward Simpson's house. Mr. and Mrs. 
Simpson discovered. 

Mrs. Simpson — Edward, I may just as well say plainly 
that I think we must do something to get your brother off 
our hands. He has been here now over two weeks, and 
he stays and stays just as if this was his home, and as if 
he had n't the slightest idea of ever going away. 

Edward Simpson — You are quite right, wife ; we must 
get him away. I thought it possible, when he came here, 
that he had plenty of money ; but that idea has vanished 
entirely. If he had money, he would not go around so 
shabbily dressed. He had the audacity to hint to me, 
yesterday, that I might buy him a new coat ; just as if I 
hadn't enough to do to buy new coats for myself and my 
children. 

Mrs. Simpson — Oh, the impudence of some people ! I 
am sure we have done very well in keeping him these two 
weeks, and not charging him a cent for his boarding. 
And now he wants a new coat, does he ? I wonder he 
did n't ask for a full suit ; he certainly has need of it ; but 



STERLING DIALOGUES 127 

lie needn't expect to get it here. But are you sure, 
Edward, that he didn't bring any money home with 
him? 

Edward Simpson — Yes, quite sure. I didn't say any 
thing to him about it, but John was never the man to go 
in rags if he had any money in his pocket. He has been 
away for fifteen years, you know, and he might have made 
plenty of money in that time ; but it is my impression, 
that if he did make any thing, he spent it all before he 
started for home. 

Mrs. Simpson — Well, what are we to do with him ? 

Edward Simpson — Send him to the poorhouse, I sup- 
pose. I don't quite like to do that, either; for people 
will talk, and they will say I ought to have kept him in 
his old days. 

Mrs. Simpson — Let them talk. It's nobody's business 
but our own, and it will all blow over in a week or two. 
Of course we can 't have him on our hands as long as he 
lives, merely because the neighbors will talk a little about 
our sending him to the poorhouse. 

Edward Simpson — No, of course not. Here he comes 
now ; we must inform him of our decision. 

Enter John Simpson, shabbily dressed. 

Edward Simpson — John, we have been talking about 
you. 

John — So I supposed. I thought I heard my name 
mentioned. You were considering that matter about the 
coat, were you ? I hope you will think favorably of it. 

Mrs. Simpson — (Bridling up) — No, sir ; we were not 
thinking of buying "you a coat, but we were speaking of 
your audacity in making such a request. 

John — Ah ! were you ? Do n't you see I am old now, 
and dreadfully crippled with rheumatism? And, of 



128 STERLING DIALOGUES 

course, I am not able to work to buy myself clothes. If 
my brother will not take care of me now, who will? 

Mrs. Simpson — That's just what we are going to talk 
about. 

Edward Simpson — Wife, allow me to speak to John 
about this matter. (To John.) It may sound a little 
harsh and unpleasant, but we have come to the conclusion 
that we can not keep you any longer. You know we are 
not very well-off in this world's goods ; we have not much 
house-room, and we have three children that demand our 
attention. We have kept you two weeks, and we think 
we have done very well. We feel that you would be 
considerably in our road here, and we have concluded to 
send you to the poorhouse. 

John — The poorhouse! I always did hate the poor- 
house. It must be so lonesome there ; and then, I do n't 
think the boarding will be good. Must I go to the poor- 
house ? 

Edward Simpson — Yes, we have decided. We can 
not keep you. 

John — I thought, when I was away, that if I could 
only get home again, I would find my brother willing to 
take me under his roof, and allow me to end my days 
there. But I was mistaken. When must I go ? 

Edward Simpson — I will have the papers made out, 
and be ready to take you to-morrow afternoon. 

John — Send for Eliza Jones and her husband. They 
will not want to keep me, either, I suppose — how can I 
expect them, when they are a great deal poorer than you ? 
But send for them. I want to see them, and say good- 
bye, before I go away. 

Edward Simpson — Emeline, tell Parker to run across 
to Jones' for his Uncle Martin and Aunt Eliza. 

{Exit Mrs. Simpson. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 129 

John — If they do not treat me well at the poorhouse, 
what shall I do ? Cut stick and run off, or sue them for 
breach of promise? 

Edward Simpson — (Aside) — It seems to me, he takes 
it exceedingly cool. But it is better he should do so, than 
to make a noise about it. (To John.) I think you will 
be well treated. The Superintendent is very kind to all 
under his care, and is considered a perfect gentleman. 

John — A gentleman ! I 'm glad of that. (Sarcasti- 
cally.) Ah ! Edward, it is a great thing to be a gentleman. 

Edward Simpson — I am glad you are willing to go 
without making any fuss about it. You know people will 
talk ; and they would talk a great deal more, if you 
should be opposed to going. I hope you will not think 
unkindly of us, because we have concluded to take this 
step ; you see we can not well keep you here ; and as you 
are gettiug old, and are greatly afflicted with rheumatism, 
you will be better attended to there than you could be here. 

John — Yes, yes, I understand. Don't fret about me, 
Edward. I suppose it isn't much difference where I live, 
and where I end my days. But, Edward, I think I would 
not have treated you so. However, one hardly knows 
what one will do when one comes to the pinch. If I 
had brought home a market-basket full of ninety-dollar 
gold-pieces, perhaps I would not have taken up so much 
room in your house, nor crowded your children so dread- 
fully. 

Enter Mrs. Simpson, and Mr. and Mrs. Jones. 

Mrs. Jones — (Running to John) — O John, my bro- 
ther, they want to send you to the poorhouse ! You shall 
not go ! you shall not go ! 

Martin Jones — No, John, you shall not go. While 
we have a crust of bread,, you shall share it with us. 



130 STERLING DIALOGUES 

John — But I never did like to eat crusts. 

Mrs. Simpson — That's him, for you! He doesn't 
want to pay anything for his board, but he wants to have 
the best. 

John — And he does n't like to eat dirt. 

Mrs. Simpson — Do you mean to say that I am a dirty 
cook ? 

John — ( Whistles " Yankee Doodle " ) — Come, if I am to 
go to the poorhouse, let me be off. 

MpvS. Jones — You shall not go. We are poor, but you 
shall stay with us. We can find room for you, and we 
will be provided for, I '11 warrant, someway. 

Mrs. Simpson — People oughtn't to be rash about tak- 
ing on a load they can't carry. 

Edward Simpson— Enieline, if Martin and Eliza want 
to keep John, let them do so; don't say a word. Of 
course, I think they have quite enough to do to keep their 
own heads above water ; but if they want to keep John, 
it is their own business. 

John — Yes, it is their own business ; and if they were 
on the point of sinking, would you raise a finger to keep 
their heads above water ? No ! Edward — I can not call 
you brother— I know you now. I leave your house to-day, 
but I do not go to the poorhouse. I have money enough to 
buy and keep a hundred such little farms as yours, and a 
hundred such little men. I do not need your coats nor your 
cringing sympathies ; I wanted to find you out. I wanted 
to know what kind of a man you were, and I know. 
When I came home, I determined to find out, in some 
way, whether you or the Jones family were most deserv- 
ing of my money. I have found that out ; and I go with 
them, to make my home there. 

Mrs. Simpson — But we did n't know — 

John — Ay, I know it. You thought I was a beggar ; 



STERLING DIALOGUES 131 

you thought I had no money, and no clothes. If you had 
believed otherwise, you would have received me with open 
arms. Come, {To Mr. and Mrs. Jones,) we will go. 
I shall not forget you for your kindness. I will make my 
home with you ; and if it is true, that you have had hard 
enough work to keep your heads above water, it shall be 
so no longer. ( To Mr. and Mrs. Simpson.) I had almost 
forgotten. Here are twenty dollars, for my two weeks' 
board. ( Throivs down the bills.) You see that although 
I may have a shabby appearance, I am yet able to pay my 
way in the world. Good-day, Mr. and Mrs. Simpson. 

[Exit John Simpson, and Mr. and Mrs. Jones. 

Edward Simpson — Confound the luck ! 

{Rushes out at one side of the stage.) 

Mrs. Simpson — Is n't this dreadful ! 

i out at the other side of the stage.) 

[ Curtain.'] 



NOT WHAT HE WANTED. 



CHARACTERS :— Joe, an impatient Boy. 
Myra, his Sister. 

HE^K?} MsC0m P ani0nS ' 



SCENE — A sitting-room on a hot summer day. 

Joe — {Solus.) — Oh, dear me! What shall I do? I 
really believe I shall melt. {Fanning himself with his hat, 
and puffing furiously.) I can't stand such awful heat, and 
I never saw such hot weather before. It is enough to melt 
the whole human race. I wonder what such weather was 
made for. Phew F I can't stand it any longer, {pacing and 



132 STERLING DIALOGUES 

blowing around the room,) and there's no use of talking. 
Why, I shall melt ; but how it would look if I should in- 
deed melt and turn into a pot of grease ! But see how 
I sweat; and see how red my face is. (Wiping his face 
while he looks in a glass.) Man was never made to en- 
dure such weather, for I am sure if I get much hotter I 
shall certainly be hissing hot. My handkerchief is as wet 
as a dish-cloth, and looks pretty much like one. The 
cologne has all vanished, and no wonder at it ; all been 
dissipated into vapor by the heat of such a furnace ; and, 
like it, I am going as fast as possible. I don't believe 
I weigh half as much as I did in the morning, for I can 
almost lift myself by my boot-straps, and, if I were not so 
hot, could throw myself by them over a stone wall. Oh 
dear, what shall I do ? I can't stand it any longer. 

(Making a great noise, stamping around the floor.) 

Enter Myra. 

Myra — Joe, what in the world is the matter with you ? 
What is all this fuss and noise about ? 

Joe — If you were only half as hot as I am, you would 
soon find out what it is all about. I believe the world is 
coming to an end ; I know it is burning up ! 

Myra — Oh, you great dunce to make such a hurrah 
about warm weather. Why don't you sit down and be 
quiet? You are in such a steiv you will never become 
cool. 

Joe — I guess if you were half as hot as I am, you would 
make a bigger fuss. Oh, how I wish I were in Greenland, 
Iceland, or astride the North Pole, or hugging an iceberg ; 
only that I might get cooled off a little. 

Myra — What a great crazy lubber for a boy of fifteen, 
to make such an outrageous ado about a little summer 
weather ! 



STEELING DIALOGUES 133 

Joe — Get away with such insults when I am suffering 
so severely ; I wont endure it. 

Myra — But what will you do about it ? The heat is 
just as great in my case as in yours. What if I should 
go storming around as you do ; and all the rest of our 
folks should do the same ; what a bedlam we should have ! 

Joe — Now you leave the room if you have no more 
sympathy for a suffering brother than this. You are 
around here as cool as an ice-cream plate, and only wish to 
insult me as if I were your slave. 

Myra — Insult you ! I simply said that I am exposed 
to the heat of the weather as much as you are, which is 
true, and you call that insulting ! But more than this, I 
have been in the kitchen over the fire helping to get your 
dinner, while you have only had to make yourself com- 
fortable as best you could, and then you charge me with 
being cool as an ice-cream plate, in a most insulting way. 
Is this fair ? 

Joe — I don't care, you don't suffer as much as I do. 
The heat of the kitchen is nothing compared to this. 

(Sighing heavily.) 

Myra — Then you had better go into the kitchen your- 
self if that is any help. I only wish you would. If 
standing over the hot stove as I did wouldn't take some 
of the blubber out of you, then I will set myself down for 
a dunce. 

Joe — Oh, you are the greatest torment in the world — 

Myra — Greater than the heat you are suffering from ? 

Joe — You only wish to torment me while in this plight. 
What do I care if you have been over the hot stove ? 
Perhaps the heat does not affect you so severely as it does 
me. You can strut around with laees and thin dresses, 
the coolest things in the world. No wonder the heat does 
not discommode you. 



134 STEELING DIALOGUES 

Myra — Why don't you put on such refrigerators then? 
You certainly can try them, and the experiment would n't 
hurt you, since you think them to be so excellent. 

Joe — Oh, you are a contemptible pest ! See my hand- 
kerchief! {Holding it up.) See how it is soaked ! 

Myra — Yes, it would do admirably to cover a kite for 
all the wet there is in it. But how it is stained ! 

Joe — Yes, the berry juice is stewing through with the 
perspiration. It's those berries we had for dinner. 

Myra — You great goose, it's where you spilled your 
berries over it. Ha, ha ! Berry juice coming through 
the pores of the skin ! Who ever heard of such a ludi- 
crous idea before ? 

Joe — There, everything I say must become the matter 
for one of your jests. I wish, if you can not come with a 
ray of comfort, you would stay away with your contemp- 
tible jokes. 

Myra — You must not say such foolish things then. It 
is enough to make a marble statue laugh to hear such 
nonsensical remarks from a young man so professedly 
smart as Joe Prettyman. Why do n't you sit down and be 
quiet ; or busy yourself about something ? then you would 
not think of hot weather. It will soon be evening, and 
the cool breezes will remove the intensity of the heat ; then 
how very simple all this conduct of yours will appear. 

Joe — I do n't care, I can 't stand it much longer. I am 
almost melted. I feel real faint. 

(Leaning against the wall.') 

Myra — Come and sit down here and I will fan you. 
But, see ! there are Henry and Martin coming through the 
yard with some ice, I should think. 

Joe — ( Quickly reviving) — Oh, that 's good ! and if I 
do n't have some of it, then my name is n't Joe. 

Myra — Well, I would n't be so excited about it ; and 



STERLING DIALOGUES 135 

don't go to being mean with them, or you may be sorry 
for it. 

Joe — Yes, now you had better turn preacher ! Do n't 
you suppose I have a bit of common sense ? 

Myra — (Looking toivards them) — I should think they 
have some ice in a glass jar. How delightful on such a 
warm day ! 

Joe — (To Myra) — Oh, get me a tumbler! I'll have 
some of it„ if I have to steal it. Oh, I will have some. 
[Making a great noise till he finds a tumbler. A knock 
at the door.~] 

Enter Henry and Martin, bearing a glass jar, contain- 
ing what seems to be ice. 

Joe — (Hurrying up to them) — Oh, I am glad you've 
brought me some ice, for I am almost melted. Here is a 
glass ; give me a drink at once. ( With much importunity.) 

Henry — (Carrying the jar) — Why, Joe, it wont be of 
any use — 

Martin — ( With a peculiar wink to Henry and Myra, 
which they at once understand) — Yes, you shall have some. 
Bring on your tumbler. But you waut some water in it 
first, and then I will put in a piece all for yourself. 

Henry — Yes, Joe, if you want some go and fill your 
tumbler with water. How warm the fellow is. See how 
the sweat rolls down his face. 

(Joe goes out for some water.) 

Martin — (Softly) — Keep on a sober face and we will 
have some fun with Joe, for I suppose he has been having 
one of his tantrums. 

Myra — Indeed he has ! He declares he is going to 
melt, and I do n't see as we can ever break him of his ex- 
travagant freaks, 



136 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Enter Joe. 

Henry — Hullo ! Here he comes with his glass brim- 
ming full. O Joe, wont you have a treat now ? Poor 
fellow, to suffer so much from the heat, and then be 
laughed at as, no doubt, you have been by Myra ! 

Myra — I think if you had been here a few moments 
ago you would have laughed. 

Martin — Come, my brave boy, put your tumbler on 
the table and I will drop in some pieces. 

Joe — Oh, do hurry, for I can hardly wait. 

Myra — Joe, why don 't you set down the tumbler on 
the table ? ( Taking hold of his hand.) Pray don 't act 
so foolish before folks ! 

Joe — Do get away, you little torment, for I can man- 
age this driDk myself. (Pushing her away.) 

Martin — (To Joe) — Yes, set it down and let it stand 
a moment, for it can't possibly cool so much water in a 
moment. 

\_He sets it down, and Martin picks out a few pieces 
from his jar, and puts them into the tumbler, when 
Joe seizes it and takes a sivallow.'] 

Toe — Why, this isn't oue particle cooler than it was 
before. 

Henry — Well, didn't we tell you to let it stand to 
cool ? Now let it alone for two or three minutes. 

Joe — Oh, but I am so hot ! Myra, get a spoon and 
stir it. (Myra gets one and stirs the water.) 

Martin — It will soon be ready. Don't you see; some 
of it is melting already ! 

Joe — Yes ; but some of it do n't melt at all. 

Martin — Oh, well, that that don't melt is frozen a 
great deal harder than the other. It is singular how 
hard some things freeze. 

( Winking to Myra and Henry.) 



STERLING DIALOGUES 137 

Joe — Well, let me have it now, I can 't wait. 

{Seizes the tumbler and drains it off at one draught.) 

Henry — {Springing to him quickly) — Don't drink so 
much at once ! 

Joe— Oh, murder! What is it? What is it? It 
isn't ice; it isn't cold! Oh, murder, murder, how it 
burns my mouth ! Is it poison — say quick ! 

(Buns around ivith a wry face.) 

Martin — Don't you like it, Joe? Isn't it good this 
hot weather ? 

Joe — It's poison, it's poison; I am dying, I am dying ! 

Myra — Boys, what is it ? (Excitedly.) Pray, what is it ? 

Henry — Do n't you know what it is, Joe ? 

Joe — Oh, it 's poison, it 's poison ! 

Henry — Do n't you know what it is ? 

Myra — Oh, boys ! I am afraid it is poison ! See how 
he raves, he is almost distracted. Had n't We better send 
for a doctor ? 

Henry — Say, Joe, don't you know what it is? 

Joe — No. But I know well enough it's poisoD. 

Martin — Well, if you did n't know what it was, why 
were you so anxious to drink it ? That is what I should 
like to know. 

Joe — Oh, it's poison ! You've poisoned me to death ! 
I know I shall die. 

Martin — No, you wont die either ; but what did you 
want to drink it for if you didn't know what it was ? 

Joe — ( Calming himself a little) — I thought it was ice. 

Henry — Well, that did n't make it so, did it ? 

Myra — You say it isn't poison ; pray what is it? 

Joe — (Brightening up still more, but spitting copiously) 
— Yes, do tell what it is. 

Martin — ( To Joe) — You say it is poison ; if it is, that 
settles the matter, and probably it will kill you. 
21 



138 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Joe — Do tell me quick, is it poison ? 

Henry — Did you ever taste anything like it ? 

Joe — (Puckering his mouth as if trying to discover what 
it is) — I should think it was alum. 

Henry — I guess it does pucker a little like alum, for 
it has the same nature, inasmuch as it is alum. 

Martin — Yes, it is only alum, and a very fine speci- 
men of quartz rock and glass for our museum. So cheer 
up, for it will not kill you just yet ; neither do I think it 
will quench your thirst to any great extent. 

Joe — But what did you say it was ice for when it was 
not? 

Martin — We never said it was ! You commenced 
furiously on us as we came in to show them to you, say- 
ing you were going to have some of that ice, and of 
course ou«r generosity could not refuse you if we could do 
you any service. It is all your own fault, arising from 
your own greediness. 

Joe — (Hanging his head thoughtfully') — I guess you are 
right. (To the audience.) It was the celebrated Dr. 
Franklin who said : " Never drink anything without see- 
ing it ; never sign anything without reading it," and I am 
now pretty well convinced from experimental knowledge, 
that Benjamin Franklin was a wise man; and further, 
that if the old saying, that " Experience is the best 
schoolmaster," is true, I shall endeavor to be wiser my- 
self in the future than I have been in the past. 

[ Curtain.'] 



STERLING DIALOGUES 139 



SAVED. 

CHARACTERS :— Phillips, Barkeeper. 
Peters, Drunkard. 
Blanche, Drunkard's child. 
Bolt, Jailer. 
Policeman No. 1. 
Policeman No. 2. 
Faith, ] 

Hope, > Three young Ladies. 
Charity, J 



Costumes. — Faith, Hope and Charity should be dressed in 
white ; hair long and loose over their shoulders, a band of white for 
coronet, with a gold or silver star at the forehead, a red sash passing 
over one shoulder and under the other arm, with the respective 
names upon them. Peters and Blanche in ragged clothes. 
Others as fancy dictates. 

Note. — Between the scenes, while the child is singing behind the 
curtain, the stage may be cleared for the next scene. If spoken in 
the evening, the stage should be dimly lighted in the second scene, 
only one distant light, and that above the speakers' heads, to repre- 
sent the moon. 

Scene I. — A bar-room. 

Enter man half drunk, begging for more drink. 

Peters — T-t-there 's no use talking, landlord, I m-must 
have just one more drink. 

Phillips — Show me your money. 

Peters — D-did n't I say I haint g-got a red cent to my 
name? 

Phillips — Then don't come round me, begging, you 
poor drunken loafer ; make yourself off, or I '11 — 

Peters — D-d-do n't you call me a loafer, or I'll give 
you a dose of that. (Shaking his fist.) I'm just as good 
as you, the best day you ever see. 

Phillips — Come, come, don't shake you fists around 
here, I don't want to fight. You had better go and earn 
a sixpence somewhere, then come and ask for a drink, 
instead of standing here, begging away the hard earnings 
of respectable men. 



140 STEELING DIALOGUES 

Peters — (Straightening up and speaking quite soberly) 
— Respectable men! Landlord, I aint a fool, if I be 
drunk. I wonder if you call your money hard-earned, 
when you stand here behind your counter, and take the 
last shinplaster from the hands of a hundred wretched 
drunkards like myself? I s'pose you think you are 
mighty respectable, because you can wear a paper collar 
and good clothes. Landlord, I was once just as respecta- 
ble looking as you, but you've made me what I am. 
You 've got my last sixpence, and now you tell me to go 
and earn another, to give to you. (Turning round and 
speaking to himself.) My poor, poor children, I wish I 
could stop, for your sakes ; but I can 't ; it's no use. 

Phillips — No more of your blarney. Get out, 1 say ! 

Peters — Not a step without a drink ; I must have it ! 

Phillips — Well, you wont, you know. (Starting 
toward him.) I 've heard enough of your lip for one day. 
Go ! You wont get a drink here ! 

Peters — (Advances a step and draws a pistol) — Take 
care ! do n't you touch me, sir ! I 've come prepared for 
you to-day ; you 've got my last cent, now a drink or your 
life! 

Phillips — (Runs behind counter) — Murder ! 

Enter Policeman No. 1. Peters discharges the pistol 
at him, but misses. Enter Policeman No. 2, from 
behind, and seizes him. 

Policeman No. 2 — Not a very good marksman, but 
you 're caught in the act, and now you may go with us. 
Give me your firearms. 

[Peters struggles, but the pistol is wrenched from his 
hand by Policeman No. 1, and he is led, still 
struggling, from the stage, followed by Phillips, 
who is assisting the Policemen.'] 



STERLING DIALOGUES 141 

Phillips — {Walks slowly back, soliloquizing) — Well, 
it's more luck than wit that I'm alive! Supposing that 
scoundrel had shot me. It's lucky that the police were so 
near at hand ; but I declare, he 's desperate. I 'in glad he 
is in safe keeping; there's no knowing what he might do 
if he 's allowed to run loose. (Seats himself in a chair, 
places his feet on the top of a ivhiskey-barrel, tips his hat to 
one side of his head, and takes up a newspaper. While 
he is reading a child enters ; he looks up and says :) There 
comes one of his brats now. I was in hopes I had got rid 
of the whole creAV, but they need n't come here, sniveling 
and begging. Zounds ! she looks rough, though. I do 
feel kind o' sorry for her, anyhow. 

Enter Blanche, ivho walks up before him, and sings. 

BLANCHE — Please, Mr. Barkeeper, has father been here ? 
He 's not been at home for the day, 
'T is now almost midnight, and mother 's in fear 
Some accident keeps him away. 

PHILLIPS — (Sings) — No, no, little stranger; or yes, he's been 
here, 
Some officers took him away, 
He 's gone to the lock-up, I 'm sorry, my dear, 
He 's done something wicked, they say. 

BLANCHE — (Sings) — Oh ! 't was not my father, who did the bad 
deed, 
'Twas drinking that maddened his brain, 
Oh ! let him go home to dear mother, I plead, 
I 'm sure he '11 not touch it again ! 

( Curtain falls and Blanche sings again :) 

BLANCHE — Please, Mister Policeman, my father is lost, 
A man says you took him away, 

Oh ! can 't he go home, sir ; and what will it cost, 
If mother will send you the pay ? 



142 STEELING DIALOGUES 

Policeman No. 1 — {Sings) — Oh, no, little pleader, your 

father can 't go ! 
We put him in prison, to-day, 
Go home to your mother, and quick let her know, 
What 's keeping your, father away. 
Blanche — {Sings) — Oh! 'twas not my father, etc. 

[ Curtain.'] 

SCENE II. — Bolt, the Jailer, armed, walking slowly back and forth 
across the stage. 

Enter Blanche. 

BLANCHE — (Sings) — Please, sir, Mister Jailer, please let me 
go in, 

They say that my father 's inside, 
I scarcely can tell how unhappy we 've been, 

We could not feel worse, had he died. 
Please, sir, it was drinking that made him do wrong, 

I 'm sure, sir, he will drink no more, 
Oh, just a few minutes, a minute's not long, — 

But no one will open the door. 

(Turns to go aivay, singing low and mournfully.) 
Oh ! 't was not my father, etc. 

[Bolt takes a seat at the door where the prison is sup- 
posed to be.] 

Enter Faith, Hope and Charity from different parts 
of the stage. They join hands. 

Charity — Welcome, sweet sisters, my helpers in every 
good and noble work. We 've met again on a mission of 
love. What shall we do first to best promote our 
object? 

Hope — We '11 hope and pray. 

Faith — We '11 trust in God. 

Charity — Heaven help us, then ; thou, sweet Hope, 
shall be my guiding star; and thou, dear Faith, my 
anchor; and mine shall be the hand to lift our fallen 



STERLING DIALOGUES 143 

brother, and save him from ruin ; let us go. ( They ad- 
vance toward Bolt, and Charity hands him a paper.) 
Mr. Jailer, here is a letter of pardon from the authorities, 
will you release our brother ? 

Bolt — (Beads it, and then says) — Can it be possible, 
that the wretched vagabond, shut up in this dungeon, is 
your brother ? 

Charity — We are sisters to all mankind. There is 
none so low as to be beneath our notice, and none so de- 
graded as to deserve our scorn. When a poor, erring 
mortal has advanced far down the broad road to ruin, 
and a world joins its forces to dash him over the brink of 
destruction, then it is our mission to win him back, set 
him on an equal footing with us, and teach him the way 
to Heaven. 

Bolt — Yours is a good mission, friends ; you have my 
best wishes for your success. Wait here, and I will bring 
the prisoner. 

[ Goes and brings the prisoner with him, dragging his 
chains.'] 

Charity — Loose him, and let him go. 

Bolt — (Looses him, and says) — There, go ! you 're free 
again, thanks to the efforts of these friends, in your be- 
half. May you be a better man for their sake, and the 
sake of your family. ( Throws off the chains.) 

Peters — How can I ever thank you for your kind- 
ness, my unknown benefactors ? 

Faith — Not so unknown as you suppose. Our good 
sister, Charity, has been a frequent visitor to your wretched 
home. 

Peters — Don't speak of my home, I beg of you. (Sits 
down and leans his head in his hands, speaking remorse- 
fully.) I had a home once, and love and respect ; but I 
have none now; and rum has been my ruin. I had 



144 STERLING DIALOGUES 

friends once, but I have none now ; nobody to help me 
reform, if I wished. 

Hope — Do you remember, when poor trusting Faith 
and trembling Hope were thrust outside your doors ? 

Peters — Yes, yes, I remember ! My poor wife and 
children, how they have suffered. 

Charity— Yes, brother, they have suffered, and even 
now they are weeping for you, hoping, trusting that you 
will yet be an honor to yourself and them. 

Peters— I can not! that never can be! I'm dis- 
graced and ruined ! I 'm driven from good society, and 
shunned by everybody. No, no! it's too late now! 
{Speaks impatiently.) Leave me alone, there's no use, 
I 'm a lost man ! 

Charity — (Advances, and lays her hand upon his 
shoulder) — Brother, don't talk thus, I pray you. I know 
the world is harsh ; temptation will follow you, slander 
will assail you, pride and malice will trample upon you, 
society will shun you ; but do n't say you have no friends. 
Look up, and behold the three angels, who will ever attend 
you in your hours of darkest trials. 

Peters — (Looks up, hastily) — Faith ! Hope ! Charity ! 
but the greatest of these is Charity. Are these, then, my 
friends, these, angels in disguise ? ( Takes an empty bottle 
from his pocket, holds it up, and looks at it ; talking as if 
addressing it.) I had thought that this was all the friend 
I had ; but, instead of a friend, thou hast been but the 
lurking-place of a demon. Never again shalt thou de- 
ceive me. What care I now for your temptations ! I 
have friends, true friends, the angels of Faith, Hope, and 
Charity ; and they have saved me. (Rises quickly, dashes 
the bottle upon the floor, crushing it to pieces, and shouts 
loudly :) Saved, saved at last ! 

[ Curtain.'] 



STERLING DIALOGUES 145 

Scene III.— Tableau.— Peters reformed. 

The back part of the stage should be hidden from the 
audience, by a curtain which opens in the center. This 
can easily be arranged according to taste or convenience. 
Upon the rising of the curtain, Faith and Charity are 
discovered to the right and left of the central opening of 
the curtain, a few feet from each other, with their right and 
left arms extended and grasping the curtain, as if about 
to draw it apart and open. Hope is discovered a few feet 
in advance, and midway between them, with the fore-finger 
of her right hand to her lips, as if invoking silence. 
While "Home, Sweet Home" is played or sung, very 
softly, in the distance, Hope slowly moves her finger 
from her lips, and points to the scene which is being re- 
vealed, as Faith and Charity gradually draw the cur- 
tain open, disclosing Peters, his wife and Blanche 
seated around the supper-table, Peters in the act of ask- 
ing a blessing upon the meal. 

[ Curtain.'] 



TWO WAYS OF TELLING THE SAME THING. 

CHARACTERS :— Feed Scott, ) , ~ 

Ned Snoosy, j two Bo ? s ' 



Scene.— A platform. Feed Scott steps out sis if to make a speech. 

Fred— I want to tell you all about the walk I took 

with Ned, 
While all you lazy people here were sound asleep in bed. 
I woke before 'twas hardly light, and quickly rose and 

dressed, 
The day was breaking in the East, the moon shone in the 

West. 



146 STERLING DIALOGUES 

I called to Ned ; called once, called twice, before lie 

scrambled down, 
And soon we two w r ith hurrying steps had left the dozing 

town. 
And then I saw a splendid sight! The East was all 

aglow, 
With pink-edged purple clouds, and streaks of blue and 

gold below. 
And then the sun arose, a great and glowing ball of reel, 
From out a heap of crimson clouds, like cushions of a 

bed ; 
He gleamed across the sky, the earth was flushed with 

ruddy light, 
On every leaf and blade of grass were diamonds flashing 

bright. 
Long shadows stretched along the ground, each leaf in 

quivering play, 
And sunlight warmed and lighted up where all was cold 

and grey. 
I see you smile at my big words ; I say you need n't 

laugh, 
For of the splendid sight I saw, I have not told you 

half. 

Ned — (Calls out from the audience) — I don't believe 
your yarn ! 

Fred — You don't, you ugly, grinning elf! 
Just you get up here on the stage and tell the thing 
yourself ! 

Enter Ned. 

Ned — Look here, what 's that you 're going on about, 
you stupid fellow ? 
The sun was bright, the shadows long, the sky was red 
and yellow ? 



STERLING DIALOGUES 147 

Well, what of it ? A patch of red is no such wondrous 

sight 
That just to see it one should wake in the middle of the 

night. (Tb the audience.') 

I 'm out of patience with this goose, (I will not call him 

fool, 
Because, I'm sorry to confess, he stands ahead at 

school,) 
But then he has such curious ways I can not well make 

out, 
I did not see such splendid things to gabble so about. 
I saw the sun rise, too, this morning. What of that ? 

I dare 
To say 'twould have risen all the same if I had not been 

there. 
To tell the truth, it was so early I could hardly keep 
My eyes from shutting up, and I was almost half asleep. 
And then the air was damp and chilly ; one might know 

'twould be 
At such an early hour, and I was shivering dreadfully. 
And then those diamonds bright of his — those penetrating 

dews, 
Had wet my trowsers to my knees, and soaked quite 

through my shoes. 
Now I have this advice to give : I pray you all take 

warning, 
And never be caught out of bed on such a wretched 

morning. 

Fred— O Ned ! 

Ned — Yes, Fred, 
It was a wretched morning, those are the words I said ; 
I '11 stick to them, and call them true, though you should 
kill me dead. 



148 STERLING DIALOGUES 

So where 's the use of quarreling? You see we can't 

agree. {In unison.) 

f Ned — It was a wretched morning as ever I did see. 
1 Fred — It was a splendid morning as ever I did see. 

{To the audience.) 
Now if this fellow hadn't stopped me with his foolish 

talk, 
I would have told you more about our very pleasant walk. 
The roosters crowing near and far replied to one another, 
And here and there we came across a careful old hen- 
mother, 
Who clucked and scratched for her young brood thus 

early in the morn, 
And in a field we saw some ducks nip off the growing 

corn. 
The men came out to feed their stock, the maids to milk 

the cows. 
"We watched the blue smoke curling up from out each 

wayside house. 
Oh, all the world was waking up — each pig, and colt and 

calf, 
I wanted just to run, and hop, and jump, and sing and 

laugh, 
Turn summersaults, and fences climb ; but Ned here was 

so lazy — 

Ned — So tired you mean! You was so brisk you 

almost set me crazy. 
You know I was so tired I scarce could drag myself 

along, • 
And still you wanted me to run, and climb, and sing a 

song; 
Or else you wanted me to stay and see an ugly daisy, 
Or watch a stupid bumble-bee a humming round a flower, 



STERLING DIALOGUES 149 

Although I begged you hard to stop and rest for half an 
hour. 

I never saw a boy so wild about the birds and things, 

As though I knew or cared what kind of song a cat- 
bird sings ! 

I only know I saw one sitting on a fence we passed, 

And I thought, " Now there's a chance for a little fun at 
last." 

And so I stopped and found a stone at the ugly bird to 
fling, 

In hopes, if I could not kill it quite, perhaps I 'd break its 
wing; 

But then it up and flew away, the good-for-nothing thing! 

Then you wanted even to see a rose, 'twas such a pretty 
blue — 

Fred— O Ned ! 

Ned — 'T is true ! 

Fred — 'T was red. 

Ned — 'T was blue, 
But as for that I do not care ! I 'm sure I never knew 
Whether a rose was red or white or black or green or 

blue. 
You see I'm not so great a goose about a flower as you ! 

Fred — {To the audience) — You hear him! Did you 
ever know a boy that so lacked sense ? 

He says he tried to kill a bird that sat upon the fence. 

I know he caught the butterflies and pinned them on his 
hat, 

And kicked a little dog, and tried to set him on a cat. 

But still we had a splendid time — 

Ned — Speak for yourself, I pray J 



/60 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Feed — I gathered all the flowers \ found , in fields 
along our way, 
You never saw such pretty flowers — 

Ned — I never will again 

If I must rise at four o'clock to see them ; that is plain ! 

Fred — I filled a bottle full of bugs with green and 
golden wings — 

Ned — (To the audience) — I never saw a boy so wild 

about his bugs and things ! 
There's one thing that I soon found out; that is, that 

bees have stings. 
You see, I tried — 

Fred — (To the audience) — He caught a bee and shut 

it in a flower, 
And kept it close there buzzing loud for nearly half an 

hour; 
But when he tried to look at it, the poor thing g.ot away, 
And buzzing round, it made him for his cruel cunning 

pay. 
It stung his hand — 

Ned — The mean old thing ! I feel it smarting yet, 
When I can catch another bee, that sting I sha' n't forget. 

Fred — (To the audience) — But then I haven't told 
you half the pleasure that I found ; 
I saw a buzzard in the sky go sailing round and round. 
I saw the crows go cawing past, a thousand crows or more ; 
I 'm sure I never saw so many crows at once before. 
A hundred birds sang in the trees, each one a different 

tune ; 
The nicest time in all the year is just this month of June! 



STERLING DIALOGUES 151 

We found some berries hidden in the grass, so nice and 

red, 
We stopped to pick and eat them — 

Ned — Tell the whole now, Master Fred, 

How as I tried to climb the fence n\y pantaloons I tore, 
And there you stood and laughed, while I — 

Fred — You tugged and almost swore, 
And every time I think of it I have to laugh the more, 

Ned — And then what were the berries worth, so siftaK, 
unripe and sour ! 
And I so hungry, too, because 'twas past the breakfast 
hour ! 

Fred — (To the audience) — I found a bird's nest in a. 
bush ! Oh, such a cunning sight ! 
It had four little eggs in it, all speckled brown and white. 
I called to Ned to come and see, and then — what will you 

say? 
He wanted to destroy the nest and take the eggs away ! 
And then — why — I — 

Ned — You need n't brag, you bully ! If I let 

You whip me once, it doesn't mean I shall not pay you 

yet, 

When I am not so sleepy quite ; I shall not let it pass ; 
I can whip you any day I try, if you are first in the class. 

Fred — We'll see, young man! (To the audience.) 
I have n't time to tell you any more, 

For I'm so hungry I can scarcely stand upon the floor. 

I've not had breakfast yet; I say, I think there's nothing 
quite 

So good as a morning walk to give a boy an appetite. 



152 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Ned — O dear ! I 'm tired out, I 'm not so big a dunce 
' as Fred ; 
And when I get my breakfast done I'm going back to 
bed. [Exit Ned. 

Fred — Well, let him go, and yawn and snooze. I 
wont be called a fool, 
And when I get my breakfast done ,I'm going straight to 
school. 

[ Curtain.'] 



AUNT DEBBY'S SPECULATION. 

CHARACTERS :— Aunt Debby Pinchum. 
Tom, the hired Man. 
Olive, Aunt Debby's Niece. 
Keene, a Swindler. 



Scene I. — Aunt Debby's sitting-room. Aunt Debby seated 
knitting. 

Enter Tom. 

Tom — Here's the price for them 'ere chickens, marm, 
twenty-two cents a pound, just seventy-three pounds, 
comes to sixteen dollars and six cents. 

Aunt Debby — ( Clutching the money) — Dear me, Tom, 
couldn't you have got another cent a pound, by trying 
hard ? 'pears to me men are mighty shiftless now-a-days. 
Now, when I druv to market in my younger days, nobody 
could get the start of me in prices. 

Tom — I guess it was a high day, Miss Pinchum, when 
you got ten cents a pound for your poultry. Now it's 
twenty-two, and you want twenty-three. Folks are never 
satisfied. 

Aunt Debby — But consider how living has gone up, 
just look at the price of chickens' feed. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 153 

Tom — (Muttering to himself as he goes out) — Livin' 
hasn't ris much in this place, as my stomach can testify. 
I declare I wont stay to be starved out in this style. 

( Goes out) 

Aunt Debby — ( Counting he?' money) — "Well, this is n't 
so bad. It is a dollar and forty-six cents more than I ex- 
pected. (Starting suddenly.) Oh, that thief ! (Runs to the 
door and screams :) Tom, Tom ! 

Enter Tom. 
Tom — Well, now, what's to pay ? One would think the 
house was a-fire. 

Aunt Debby — Where's that six cents? 
Tom— Well now I did forget that. (Draivs out an old 
leathern wallet.) Here it is, and much good may it do you. 

[Exit Tom. 

[Aunt Debby goes to a box in the corner, and takes 

out an old black stocking. She seats herself, takes 

out a roll of bills, and pours some silver pieces in 

her lap.~\ 

Aunt Debby — Twenty-five, fifty, seventy-five, one 

hundred. All as good as gold. It's time to send these 

down to the bank-safe along with the rest, but it's such a 

comfort to have a little by a body. 

( Chinks the silver pieces and smiles.) 

Enter Olive. Aunt Debby throws her apron over the 
money. 

Olive — Oh, do n't mind me, Aunt Debby. I sha' n't 
steal, if I do want some money pretty bad. 

Aunt Debby — (Peevishly) — Oh, yes, I dare say, there 's 
something you are a wanting now. It 's just money, money 
all the time. 

Olive — But how can I study, Aunt Debby, without 
books ? I've borrowed and borrowed until I am ashamed 
22 



154 STERLING DIALOGUES 

of myself. I must have a new History now, or give up 
the study. I shall never be prepared for a teacher at 
this rate. 

Aunt Debby — Well, I do think, of all schools I ever 
heard of, yours is the most expensivest. It's just expense 
upon expense, new books and new fol-da-rols all the time. 
Now when I went to school we was well oif with our spellin' 
books and English Readers and samplers, and a skein of 
blue cotton thread to work with. Them girls that had a skein 
of red and green sewing silk besides, were counted rich. 

Olive — Well, times have changed, auntie. They never 
ask for our samplers now, when we apply for a school. 
But will you not let me have the dollar for the History 
out of that lapful of money I saw you counting when I 
came in ? 

Aunt Debby — ( Gathering her apron a little closer) — 
You must think of my expenses, child. Just see what it 
costs to keep up this place. Look at the price of chick- 
ens' feed, and see how much that ungrateful Tom eats 
every time he sits down to the table. It 's enough to break 
a bank. 

Olive — But see what the place brings you in, auntie, 
and how valuable Tom is to you. I shouldn't wonder if 
he didn't stay long, unless you give him better fare. But 
about the book, auntie, do please now get it for me; just 
see how I patch and save my dresses so as to help to get 
an education. 

Aunt Debby — Will you go without butter till you pay 
me back ? 

Olive — I will as soon as I can have coffee again. 
But I can't well do without both, as bread and water 
would be dry living for breakfast and supper. Let 's see ; 
I have gone without coffee for two weeks now. I believe 
you called it two cents a day. That makes twenty-eight 



STERLING DIALOGUES 155 

cents. It will take me three weeks more to pay for my 
Algebra. Then I will begin on the butter. But it is a 
hard way to get an education to starve one's self into it. 
Aunt Debby — I'll risk its hurting you any, to go 
without butter and coffee. They aint good for young folks. 
There's nothing better for them than good plain mush and 
skimmed milk, and it's all foolishness in you to say you 
can't eat it. You'd like it well enough if you'd try it 
steady for a spell. Well, I suppose I shan't have a 
minute's peace until that book is got, so take your dollar 
and be off, but mind you've got to pay me back every 
cent. And now don't you let me hear another word 
about money again this year. 

( Gives her a dollar, gathers up her apron and goes out.) 
Olive — I could riot thank her, glad as I am to get the 
book. Oh, what a wretched way to live ! How can I 
bear it ? How bitter to be dependent. But courage for 
only one year more, then I hope to be free from such 
fetters. [Exit Olive. 

[ Ourtain.~\ 

Scene II. — Aunt Debby, spectacles on, seated at a table, reading a 
letter ; various papers scattered over it. 

Aunt Debby — Well, this beats all creation. I never 
saw nor heard of this chap, who signs himself St. John A. 
Goldsmith ; but here he writes me a letter saying I have 
drawn a prize of a thousand dollars, in a lottery away off 
in Kentucky. He says I musn't tell any body about it. 
But I must send him fifty dollars to get five hundred of 
my prize money, or a hundred dollars to get the whole 
thousand. I can't just see through it, but as far as I can 
learn the hundred dollars pays for my ticket, which is but 
reasonable when they pay you back a thousand. I have 
often thought what an easy way it was to make money, 



156 STERLING DIALOGUES 

and here it comes right to my door. I've a great mind 
to tell Olive. She'd never tell, I know, and she could 
write my letter for me, she's such a good penman. (Steps 
to the door and calls :) Olive, Olive ! 

Olive — (Entering hastily, her sleeves rolled up) — What 
is it, auntie? You look -excited. Has anything hap- 
pened ? 

Aunt Debby— Jest sit down, Olive, and read that 
letter and them papers, and tell me what you think of 
them. 

[Olive reads. The old lady rubs her glasses, and 
watches her intently.'] 

Olive — It's a precious mess of nonsense, auntie, and 
you would never see your money again if you were 
foolish enough to send it. Just look at the morals of the 
man. He directs you to date your letter a month back, 
and says he will alter the post-mark to correspond, so as to 
deceive the " Board of Trustees." Now if he would de- 
ceive them, do you think he would hesitate much to 
deceive you ? Depend upon it, he is the " Board " himself, 
unless he has an accomplice or two in his swindling op- 
erations. I have often heard of such things before. So I 
beg of you, auntie, don't have any thing to do with it. 
I must make up my corn bread now ; and if you say so, I 
will light my fire with these papers. 

Aunt Debby — No, no ; I will save them for something 
else. One side is good white paper. (Exit Olive.) Now 
that is the most tantalizing girl I ever seen in my life. 
Here she must come in and spoil all my pretty calcula- 
tions. But never mind ; I '11 write the man a letter my- 
self, and just ask if he is certain sure that there's no 
mistake about it, and that I '11 surely get my money, and 
if it is all right I'll send, no matter what Olive says. I'll 
just write to-night, and send it off in the evening-mail. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 157 

It will go to New York to-night, and lie can answer by to- 
morrow, if he has a mind to. I wont tell Olive a word 
though, about it. So I must write quick while she is get- 
ting supper. ( Takes down pen, ink, and paper, and writes, 
folds and directs the letter.} Now I'll just slip out to the 
post-office, and if Olive asks me where I 've been, I '11 tell 
her I went to the store for a skein of thread. [Exit. 

[ Curtain.] 

Scene III.— Aunt Debby, seated, knitting. 

Aunt Debby — I was so disappointed, not to get a letter 
to-day ; but I think it will certainly come to-morrow. 
Maybe he was 'fronted 'cause I didn't send along the 
money at first, and wont have nothing more to do with 
me. It 's all that girl's fault. I should never have thought 
of misdoubting him, if she had n't put me up to it. (Bap 
at the door.} Massy sakes ! who is that knocking at the 
door? (Opens the door.) 

[Enter Keene, heavy ivhiskers, very dignified, solemn 
manner.'] 

Aunt Debby — ( Courtesying) — Will you walk in, sir ? 

Keene — {Bowing loiv, hat in hand) — Thank you, 
madam. ( Walks in, Aunt Debby giving him a seat.) 
You are probably surprised, my dear madam, at seeing 
a stranger in your house ; but as I was passing through 
your beautiful village, I thought I would call on you a 
few moments. My name is St. John A. Goldsmith. 
(Bowing and smiling.) I believe it is not quite unfamiliar 
to you. 

Aunt Debby — Land sakes ! who 'd 've thought it ! 
Excuse me, Mr. Goldsmith, but you have put me quite 
in a flutter. 



158 STEELING DIALOGUES 

Keene — No occasion for it at all, my dear madam ; I 
thought you hardly understood the matter with regard 
to which I addressed you ; and since I was riding along 
in the cars, it has occurred to me that you would take 
more interest in a mining company I am interested in 
than in the lottery. I think you mentioned you were 
alone, no man to manage your affairs. Your husband is 
dead, I suppose ? (Bowing respectfully.) 

Aunt Debby — (Simpering) — Ahem — no, sir, — I — 
ahem, I never married. 

Keene — Indeed ! I am very much surprised. I mis- 
took you for a young widow. But never mind my blun- 
ders. I am a very blundering man, at the best. As I 
was saying, you can dispose of your property as you see 
fit, having no one to dictate to you ; and this mining com- 
pany declares a dividend of fifty per cent, a month. Just 
imagine how a few hundreds, or thousands, would double 
themselves, over and over, every year, in that company. 
And all you have to do, is to take stock in it. You do 
not have to turn your hand to work. You could soon be 
the richest lady in the land, and ride in a golden coach, 
with gold-mounted harness on your horses. You might 
build you a palace which would be the pride of the whole 
country. The shares, as you will see by the prospectus, 
are fifty dollars each. The capital of the company is four 
millions ; so you see you are perfectly secure, perfectly. 
Now, if you would like to invest a little in this, I am wil- 
ling to serve you. Indeed, I shall be happy to do so, 
though I am exceedingly hurried and pressed with busi- 
ness, and seldom stop in such small towns. Indeed, I 
may say, I called this evening expressly to accommodate 
you ; and my time is very precious, very, indeed. 

(Looks at his watch.) 

Aunt Debby — I am sure I am very much obliged to 



STERLING DIALOGUES 159 

you; but the thing is so sudden-like; couldn't you give 
me a little time to think about it, and talk with my 
friends ? 

Keene — (Buttoning his coat, with an offended air) — I 
fear I have been deceived in you, madam ; and I will 
not trouble you further. (Picks up his hat.) What I 
have said has been in the strictest confidence, and from a 
sincere desire to serve you. I might lose my position as 
Director, if it should be known ; and as you decline my 
offer, I can only beg you will not mention it. 

(Arises, as if to go.) 

Aunt Debby — (Much agitated) — But I did n't say I 
declined. Please, Mr. Goldsmith, take a chair again ; I 
did n't pertend to say I would n't invest ; I only wanted 
to think over it. (Keene takes his seat, still holding his 
hat.) But if you think there's no mistake, I don't mind 
putting in a little in the business. There's about four 
hundred in the bank, and I have another hundred and 
odd about me. Now, would you advise me to put in all, 
or only half? 

Keene — (Brightening up) — My dear madam, put in 
only half, if you see fit ; but mark my words, you '11 be 
sorry you didn't put in the whole, when your dividends 
come piling in so fast every month. 

Aunt Debby — Well, Mr. Goldsmith, would you mind 
waiting here a few minutes, till I get my money? It's 
after bank hours, but Mr. Edmonds is my neighbor, and 
I know he'll oblige me. It is only a step over there. 

Keene — Certainly, certainly, madam, only be sure and 
remember my caution about mentioning this matter to 
any one, or I drop the whole concern. 

Aunt Debby — Certain, certain ; I sha'n't be gone but 
a minute. [Exit. 

Keene — (Getting up and going to a drawer) — I won- 



160 STERLING DIALOGUES 

der what the old girl has stowed away here. Two silver 
spoons, as sure as I live ! Here they go into the silver- 
mine. {Drops them into his pocket, chuckling and laugh- 
ing softly.) These pocket handkerchiefs will be useful ; 
they may follow. What a mean old thing she must be ! 
Her bureaus are absolutely not worth picking? I wish I 
could take a peep into the rest of her house. But I must 
take my seat, and draw on my professional face again. 
[Seats himself, and spreads out a number of maps and 
papers on the table.'] 

Enter Aunt Debby. 

Aunt Debby — Here I am, at last; Mr. Edmonds 
asked me a good many questions, but I put him off every 
time. So he don't suspect nothing. 

Keene — (In some alarm) — How far off does he live? 

Aunt Debby — Oh, just down the street. It's well I 
went just as I did, for he was just starting for Centerville, 
ten miles away, to be there early to court in the morning. 
They 've got a batch of counterfeiters to try, and he has 
to be there to prove something or other. Ain 't you well, 
Mr. Goldsmith, you look so queer somehow ? 

Keene — Perfectly well, perfectly, madam; I have 
sometimes a trifling dizziness in my head ; but it soon 
passes over. Now, let us proceed to business at once. I 
have made out your certificate of stock, five hundred dol- 
lars' worth. There you have it. Now I will affix a 
stamp, and it will be all legal. Here is my address in 
New York ; and here are the cards of the company. I 
will leave several with you ; and any time you are in the 
city, just call. We are always glad to see the stock- 
holders, and to give them all the information in our 
power. If you have counted the money, it is not neces- 



STERLING DIALOGUES 161 

sary for me to do so ; I have perfect confidence in your 
honesty, perfect. 

[Boivs and smiles as he receives the roll of bills from 

her hand, and exits hastily.'] 

Aunt Debby — (Gathering up her papers) — Now, I 

must keep these, choice as gold, and hide them from 

Olive. I know she wouldn't approve of it; but I guess 

she '11 think differently, when I get my first dividends. I 

shall get half my money back in thirty days. It 's a sight 

easier than raising chickens. [Exit. 

[ Curtain.'] 

Scene IV. — Olive, dusting the sitting-room. 
Enter Tom. 
Tom — Is the mistress any better this morning, Miss 
Olive ? 

Olive — No better, Tom, and the doctor hardly thinks 
she ever will be. She seems quiet, and comfortable, 
though; and that's a blessing, after the stormy time we 
have had. But the shock has completely broken her. 
She talks about her silver-mine, when she says any thing ; 
aud has quite forgotten, that she was swindled out of all 
her money. She seems to be looking for great returns 
every day. She sometimes counts the checks on the 
counterpane, and thinks they are silver pieces. Uncle 
Henry will stay a few days, and set things to rights ; and 
he would like you to stay on, and manage affairs just as 
you have ; and he will make a fair bargain with you, Tom. 
Tom — {Fumbling his hat) — If you please, miss, I would 
like to speak a word with you, about some help for the 
kitchen. It would never do for you to take all the care 
of the old lady and the housekeeping too. 

Olive — (Smiling) — So you think Mary Jane would be 



162 STERLING DIALOGUES 

a good assistant, do you ? Well, bring her here as soon 
as you like. I have already spoken to Uncle Henry about 
it, and he approves of it highly. 

Tom — {Glowing with smiles) — Bless you, Miss Olive, 
I '11 serve you to the end of my days. [Exit. 

Olive — And this is the end of my poor aunt's dream 
of wealth. How terrible it seems, to see her so broken. 
I am sorry, now, for my many impatient words and 
thoughts toward her ; but she shall not want for any care 
and attention I can give, while her life lasts. There, I 
hear her calling now. 

{Lays by her duster, and hastily exits. 

[ Curtain.'] 



ILLINOIS.* 
AN ACTING CHARADE. 

CHARACTERS :— Husband. 
Wife. 
Boy. 



Scene. — Wife, discovered sewing. 
Enter Husband. 
Husband — ( With hand over his eye, groaning) — Oh 
dear ! oh dear ! oh dear ! 

Wife — {Rushing to him) — What is it, husband ! Are 
you ill ? 

Husband — Yes. Oh dear ! oh ! 

Enter Boy, making great noise. 
Wife — ( To Boy) — Hush-sh-sh-sh ! Your father is ill. 
He 's hurt his eye. Stop that noise I 

{Helps out Husband, followed by Boy.) 
[ Curtain.'] 
* In " Illinois," sound the final " s." 



STERLING DIALOGUES 163 



THE YOUNG DEBATERS. 



CHARACTERS :— Thomas Jones, large Boy. 
Harry Lee, ~| 
Frank Hart, I n B 
Bennie Nelson, f smaii mys * 
Albert Wayne, J 



SCENE. — A school-room, or an apartment in a house. 

Thomas— Didn't you little fellows say you wanted to 
learn to debate ? 

Harry, Frank, Bennie and Albert — (Shouting) — 
Yes, yes! oh, yes ! We do! That's it! Let's debate! 
debate ! 

Thomas — Come here, then, and we will arrange 
matters. What question would you like to debate ? 

Harry' — I do n't know ; I never debated. 

Frank — I heard Ben Bingham talking about a horse 
and cow question. 

Thomas — Well, can you state the question ? 

Frank — No, I never stated a question in my life. 

Thomas — Bennie, can you tell me what the horse and 
cow question is? Can you state it or tell it to me? 

Bennie — I think this is it : " Is a horse more useful 
than a cow ? " 

Thomas — That 's right ! Well, will that question suit 
you? 

Albert — I think I would like this question, " Is a dog 
more useful to a man than a gun ? " 

Thomas — A very good question, indeed. What do 
you say, young Websters and Clays, will you take the 
dog and gun question ? 

All together — I'm agreed! All right! It will 
suit us ! 



164 STEELING DIALOGUES 

Thomas — Who will take the affirmative and who the 
negative ? 

Harry — I do n't know what that means. 

Thomas — {Laughs) — Ha ! ha ! Well, I '11 try to ex- 
plain. Those who are on the affirmative will affirm, or 
say that a dog is more useful to a man than a gun, whilst 
those who are on the negative will deny that a dog is 
more useful to a man than a gun. Do you think you 
understand ? 

All — I do. And so do I. 

Albert — I want to be on the gun side of the question. 

Thomas — That will be the negative. Who will assist 
Albert on the gun side ? 

Bennie — I will, if you will let me ; and I think we 
can whip the other boys all to pieces. Why, sir, a gun is 
a useful thing — it is a weapon — you can shoot with a 
gun— 

Thomas — Hold on, Mr. Debater, you are too fast. It 
isn't your time to speak. The affirmative must open the 
debate. 

Bennie — Oh, I thought you wanted me to go ahead. 
Well, I '11 wait till the firmament talks. 

Thomas — (Laughs) — Ha! ha! What's the firma- 
ment? 

Bennie — Why, it is the dog side of the question. 

Thomas — Oh, yes ! Well, Harry, you are on the fir- 
mament, as Bennie says ; we will let you open the debate. 
You must make a speech and endeavor to show that a dog 
is more useful to a man than a gun. You can com- 
mence. 

Harry — (Somewhat frightened) — I don't know what to 
say. 

Thomas — Walk right out here and say something. 
Don't be frightened. Nobody will hurt you. You can 



STERLING DIALOGUES 165 

say a few words, anyhow, but you must not speak more 
than five minutes. 

Harry — I don't think I can speak half a minute. 
Well, then, I think a dog is a very useful animal. He 
has four tails and one leg. (Boys laugh.) I mean he has 
four legs and one tail. He has a mouth and a nose, and 
his nose — that is — his nose is always cold — his nose is. 
Our dog — we have a dog — our dog is a setter, he sets 'most 
all the time. The name of our dog is Bingo ; he was* 
called after the dog in the song. The song says, " There 
was a butcher had a dog, and Bingo was his name." 

Thomas — I don't like to interrupt you; you are mak- 
ing a very good speech, but you ought to try to show that 
a dog is more useful to a man than a gun. 

Harry — I thought I was showing that. Well, I'll 
commence again. A dog is a very useful animal. He 
has four legs ; two of his legs are hind legs and two of 
them are fore legs ; the hind legs are stuck on behind 
and the fore legs are stuck on before. If a dog had no 
fore legs behind and no hind legs before he would not be 
so useful an animal. He would not be so useful because 
he could not run much. If he had no nose he would not 
be so useful either, for he smells with his nose. Most all 
dogs smell with the nose. He smells on the track, and he 
runs on it, and sometimes catches up to it. You would 
think, sometimes, to see a dog running on his track, that 
he would run over his nose, but he never does. A dog is 
useful to bark at night. He is useful to a man because 
he runs after him, and a gun does not. You have to put 
your gun on your shoulder before it will run after you. 

Thomas — Harry, your time is up. (Harry sits down.) 
Now, Bennie, you have a chance to talk on the gun side. 

Bennie — I was going to say before, that a gun was a 
very useful animal, and I'll stick to it. 



166 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Thomas — That is, you are going to stick to that which 
you were going to say before. Ah, yes, I understand. 

Bennie — {Speaking very loud) — Yes, sir-ee ! The gun 
is the most useful animal in the wilds of North America 
and Nova Scotia. 

Thomas — Too loud, for a little boy. Become calm 
before you proceed, or you will alarm the neighbors. 

Bennie — How can I be calm when there is — when 
# there is — that is — when there is — 

Thomas — So much at issue. I understand ; go ahead. 

Bennie — Yes, sir ! The gun is the most useful animal. 

Thomas — You are not debating the question, " is the 
horse a more useful animal than the cow ? " Please do n't 
refer to the gun as an animal, it makes me nervous. 

Bennie — It was only a mistake of the tongue. But, 
sir, the gun is the most useful an — that is, he is the most 
useful gun in the world. Where would we have been to-day 
if it had n't been for the gun ? As I said before, a gun will 
shoot. You can shoot with a gun, and you can not shoot 
with a dog. Where is the man that ever shot with a dog ? 
If General George W. 'Washington had had no gun when 
he landed on Plymouth Kock in the Spring of 1776, 
where would we have been to-day? But he had a gun, 
and now we can all sit around our firesides and play 
checkers, or whistle " Yankee Doodle " and " Put me in 
My Little Bed." The gun is made by a gunsmith. Guns 
do not eat as much as dogs, and hence it follows that they 
are usefuler. Our dog is an awful eater. I think I have 
made it clear to you that the gun is the most useful an — 
most useful gun than a dog. 

Thomas — Clear as mud, Bennie ; but you have 
exhausted yourself, and may rest awhile. Frank, you 
are on the affirmative. You may reply to Bennie's spread 
eagle speech if you can reach it. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 167 

Frank — I don't think I can say much, as I never de- 
bated before. But I think the dog is the most useful 
animal. I believe the question is, " Is a dog more useful 
to a gun than a man ? " 

Thomas — {Laughs) — Ha ! ha ! You are badly ship- 
wrecked. Do you wish to debate on the gun or on the 
dog side? 

Frank — You said I would be on the dog side. 

Thomas— All right ; but your question is, " Is a dog 
more useful to a man than a gun ? " Now, go ahead. 

Frank — I say it is. A dog is very useful to man, from 
the fact that he is a very useful animal. If we had no 
dogs how could we hunt rabbits? "A dog will bite a 
thief at night," and therefore, a dog is a very useful 
animal. A dog will drive the pigs out of the yard and 
the chickens out of the garden, therefore, a dog is a very 
useful animal. A dog will hunt wood-chucks and rac- 
coons, and sometimes he will kill snakes, therefore, a dog 
is a very useful animal. The dog is also a noble animal, 
but men often abuse dogs, which isn't nice in roan. I 
heard the other day of a shabby trick which a man 
played upon his dog. The man was in a great wood, he 
was far away from any house, and had nothing to eat, 
What did he do ? Why he cut off the dog's tail, ate the 
meat off of it, and then gave the dog the bone. Now, 
that's what I call a shabby trick. But perhaps that 
saved the man's life. If the man had had a gun, where 
would he have been ? If he had had a gun he could not 
have cut off the dog's tail. The tail was not there, neither 
was the dog there. He could not have cut off the gun's 
— that is, I mean — I mean, of course, the man would have 
been in a bad fix. If he had had a gun instead of a dog 
he might have perished there in the midst of that great 
howler of a wilderness. Guns are very good in their 



168 STERLING DIALOGUES 

place, but they often go off unexpectedly, spreading 
famine and destruction around them. 

Thomas — Famine and destruction — that's the idea. 
You'll make a debater some day, Frank. Now, Albert, 
you may come forward and fire on the gun side. 

Albert — " He is fallen. We may now pause before 
that splendid prodigy which towered among us like some 
ancient ruin, whose power terrified the glance its magnifi- 
cence attracted. Grand, gloomy and peculiar — " 

Thomas — Halt ! The name of Albert Wayne on this 
occasion stands upon the list of debaters, and not on the 
list of cleclaimers. I'd like to know what the " Character 
of Napoleon Bonaparte" has to do with the important 
question, " Is a dog more useful to a man than a gun ? " 

Albert — I know I am expected to debate the gun side 
of the question, but I never debated before, and I thought 
I could kind of get into the hang of the thing if I should 
first speak a few sentences of an old declamation. 

Thomas — You will only be allowed five minutes, and 
if you consume your time in speaking declamations, you 
will not assist your " worthy colleague " very much. 

Albert — Well, I'll make another attempt. The dog 
is — that is — I mean the gun is. — Guns are made in many 
places. Some guns are made by gunsmiths, and some are 
made by other persons. Pop-guns are not made by gun- 
smiths. The gun is useful — the gun — (stammers,) the 
gun. I find that debating is hard work, but I suppose 
it will be the making of me if I keep at it. This reminds 
me of a story brother Bob read the other day. I guess 
I can't tell it just the way it was in the paper, but I can 
tell it my own way. A good while ago when dog-fight- 
ing was more in vogue than it is at the present time, a 
young man who was raising a fighting pup, induced his 
old father to get down on all-fours and imitate the dog. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 169 

The pup caught the father by the nose and held on. The 
son disregarding the old gentleman's cries, exclaimed: 
" Hold him, Growler, hold him ! Bear it, father, bear it ; 
it will be the makin' of the pup." Guns are of various 
sizes. When there is a big war going on, a great many 
guns are made and a great many guns are thrown away ; 
the soldiers throw them away when they want to run 
pretty fast. The last argument I have to offer, is this : 
An army of men carrying dogs would be of but little use, 
whilst an army of men carrying guns can shoot and make 
a noise. Where would the Revolutionary war have been 
to-day, if it hadn't been for guns? A dog is not of much 
account. Uncle Joe had a bad dog once, and he took him 
into a crowd and tried to lose him, but the dog was home 
before Uncle Joe. 

Thomas — Time's up, Albert. 

Albert — I 'm glad of that, for I did n't know what I 
would say next. 

Thomas — You have all done remarkably well for a 
first effort, and I hope you will keep at it. As Albert 
says, it may be hard work, but it will be the making of 
you if you persevere, and whenever you feel like debating 
again, I will take pleasure in listening to you. 

[Curtain.] 
23 



170 STERLING DIALOGUES 

THE TWO DOLLS. 

FOR THE VERY LITTLE FOLKS. 

CHARACTERS :— Geoege, a little Merchant. 
Ce'liI; } two little Girls. 
Captain Hutton, Celia's Uncle. 



Scene I. — George, seated behind a counter, on which are arranged 
boxes and toys. 

Enter Kitty, a poorly-dressed little girl. 

Kitty — I want to buy a doll, a very pretty doll ! 

George — A rag doll, with good-shaped head, black ink 
eyebrows, pokeberry red cheeks, and red worsted lips — 
and with a beautiful dress of calico — we have a case of 
these, just from Paris. 

[He throws out a most absurd-looking little home-made 
doll.'] 

Kitty — Oh, but it 's pretty ! O my ! O dear ! O good- 
ness ! O sakes ! a real beauty ! I '11 get that, if ' I have 
enough money ! Sakes alive, what a beauty ! (Turning it 
round and round.*) I must have this, if I can raise that 
many cents ! What price ? 

George — How much could you afford to give ? or, in 
other words, how much money have you ? 

Kitty — Seven cents ; oh, what a beauty it is ! 

George — ( Very importantly)— -Own price, exactly, lack- 
ing a half cent ; imported articles are very dear now ; but 
let me see ; considering, Kitty, that it is you, and your 
custom is worth something to us, we'll throw off a half 
cent. Shall I do it up for you, miss ? 

Kitty — Yes ; here, (counting out rusty pennies,') one, 
two, three, four, five, six, seven ; that 's it. 

George — She 's worth every cent of it ! 

Kitty — Is she named ? 



STERLING DIALOGUES 171 

George — (Looking intently into a day-booh) — Yes, her 
name is Victoria Eugenia ! 

Kitty — But I don't like Victry Ugia ! Would it hurt 
to change it ? 

George — Not a bit ; call her anything you like : Su- 
sanna Maria, or Jane Elizabeth, or Matilda Ann. 

Kitty — I '11 call her Milly, wont that do ? 

George — First rate; nice and short. Yes, call her 
Milly. 

Kitty — {Kissing the doll) — Oh, Milly, darling Milly, 
how I do love you. I'll make you a nice little bed when 
we get home, and we '11 have such lots of fun ; I would n't 
take seven times seven cents for you, my beauty, my pre- 
cious beauty. [Exit. 

Enter Celia, a very stylish-looking little lady. 
[George bows very low, asking what she will have.] 

Celia — A doll, a fine doll — would prefer one dressed 
as a bride — I believe that is the latest style — and it must 
be from Paris. 

George — Our assortment, miss, is very fine ; however, 
we have but one bride — here she is. 

(Holding up a beautiful doll.) 

Celia — (Fingering the dress) — Is this real point lace ? 

George — Yes, that is point lace, no imitation about 
that. 

Celia — What price ? 

George — Ten dollars. 

Celia — Only ten, here it is ; let me have her in a box ! 

George — (Handing the box) — We'll have some higher 
priced ones, with reaVer point lace, when our ship 
comes in. 

Celia — No doubt. Good morning. {Exit 

[ Curtain.'] 



172 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Scene II. — Captain Htjtton, seated, wiping his spectaeles. 
Enter Celia, pouting and half crying. 

Captain Hutton — I'm sorry, my dear, that the doll 
doesn't suit you ; but why didn't you go and buy it your- 
self? My little pet told me she got a perfect beauty at 
the toy shop — a perfect beauty. 

Celia — I did go, that's what makes me mad ! I went 
and got the paltry thing, and gave ten dollars for it. No 
doubt, if I 'd waited till the new lot came, and saved up 
ten more dollars, I could have suited myself. I don't 
know who that pet of yours is ; but I suppose she spent a 
nice lot of money, and got the beauty of the establish- 
ment! 

Captain Hutton — Ha, ha, ha. (Calls.) Come here, 
Kitty ; bring your doll, and show my niece — she is cry- 
ing, because you have the prettiest one. Come, show it 
to us. 

Kitty — ( With the doll wrapped in a shawl as she rocks 
it tenderly) — Hush-a-by, hush-a-baby! Don't cry, little 
girl. I '11 let you play with it ; but do n't, oh, do n't ask 
me to part with her, my own Milly ; and (coaxingly) do n't 
be mad at me for having a pretty doll. I never had one 
of my very own before ; and the minute I set eyes on this, 
I went about wild with joy. 

Celia — Let me see the doll. 

Kitty — (Half unwraps it, then pauses) — You wont 
snatch it? 

Celia — Oh, girl, how you will have her dress crushed ! 

Kitty — (Holds it up delightedly) — Don't you wish she 
yours ? 

[Celia, with a little affected scream, faints ; and the 
uncle holds his sides with laughter.'] 

[ Curtain.'] 



STERLING DIALOGUES 173 



THE CENSUS TAKEK. 

CHARACTERS :— Mrs. Smith. 

Samanthy, addicted tp poetry. 
Sam, a ten-year old Boy. 
Mrs. Harris, the Neighbor. 
Census Marshal. 



Scene.-— Samanthy, in a soiled wrapper, loose hair, and inky fingers, 
sits with portfolio in lap, trying to write. 

Enter Sam, with cap on back of head, whistling, and 
bringing kite, knife, stick, and tacks. 
Sam — Say, sis, where 's ma? 

Samanthy — Over to Mis' Harris's. (Sam whittles on 
floor.) You had better not let her catch you whittlin' on 
her clean floor ! 

Sam — You can clean it up. 
Samanthy — Do I look like it ? 

Sam — I 'm going to fix my kite, anyhow. Who 's afraid 
of her ? 

Enter Mrs. Smith. 

Mrs. Smith — Samuel! (Sam drops knife and tacks, 
picks up, and sits down farther back.) What be you a- 
doin' ? 

Sam — I was just a-makin' my kite. 

Mrs. Smith — I '11 " kite " you, if you do n't stop whit- 
tlin' ! ( Takes broom. A knock.) Come ! 

Enter Census Marshal. 
Census Marshal — Good morning ! 
Mrs. Smith — ( Grumblingly) — Mornin'. Take a cheer ? 
(Dusting one with apron.) 
Census Marshal — Thanks. 

Mrs. Smith — Needn't mind about anything for that. 
Census Marshal — Madam, I'm commissioned by the 
United States Government to collect— 



174 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Mrs. Smith — Aint got nothin' to give; another feller 
'round beggin' last week ! 

Census Marshal — You don't understand me, madam; 
I am simply authorized — 

Mrs. Smith — I should think so ! 

Census Marshal — To take the Census ! 

[Mrs. Smith, indignantly sweeping the dust into his 
face, he moves back, and places hat, ivith papers and 
gloves in it, on the table. Sam puts on hat and 
gloves, and takes papers for kite-tail.'] 

Mrs. Smith — (Very loud) — You can't take none of my 
senses ! 

Census Marshal — You will please remember that 
one of my senses is peculiarly acute ; and I can hear per- 
fectly, if you don't speak half as loud ! 

Mrs. Smith — You '11 have to be "cider " than I think 
you be, if you take anything here ! 

Census Marshal — Are you the head of this family, 
madam ? 

Mrs. Smith — Well, yes; that's what folks say. 

Census Marshal — I mean — have you a husband ? 

Mrs. Smith — O yes, when he 's to hum ; but he aint 
to hum to-day, 'cause I sent him down to Seth Browns's, 
to get a pound of candles. (Sweeping.) 

Sam — Say, ma, old Brown says he wont trust you no 
more! 

Mrs. Smith — Samuel! 

Census Marshal — What is your husband's name ? 

Mrs. Smith — 'Liphalet ! 

Census Marshal — Has n't he any other ? 

Mrs. Smith — Yes, sir — Ebenezer ! his mother and 
Ebenezer Jones kep' company for years, kinder ; that is, 
he used to take her to spellin' schools, and huskin's, and 
sich ; but when he went to sea, and wasn't heard from in 



STERLING DIALOGUES 175 

six hull months, and my man's father kinder hung 'round, 
and being good-looking and fore-handed, she just up and 
married him, and named her first boy arter both on 'em — 
'Liphalet Ebenezer. 

Census Marshal — My goodness ! 

Sam — And my name 's John Samuel. Uncle John run 
off to Californy, after he stole that horse. 

Mrs. Smith — 'T aint no such thing ! Sam, if you ever 
tell ivhere he went to ag'in, I '11 flog you ; there ! 

Census Marshal — Hope I haven't got to hear the 
whole family history. But what do the neighbors call him ? 

Mrs. Smith — Squire, mostly. 

Census Marshal — (Aside) — Doesn't she know any- 
thing? (To Samanthy.) Young lady, •will you tell me 
the name of the man of this house ? 

Samanthy — Certainly. Smith ; S-m-y-t-h-e ! 

Census Marshal — ( Writing in his book, and reading 
aloud) — "Eliphalet Ebenezer S-m-i-t-h." 

Samanthy — Oh, that horrid man ! 

Census Marshal — What's his occupation? 

Mrs. Smith — His what ? 

Census Marshal — What does he work at ? 

Mrs. Smith — Oh, as to that, he don't do much, my 
man don't; he's weak in the back, and work don't agree 
with him fust rate ; and being of a sociable sort of mind, 
he sets 'round to the tavern mostly. 

Samanthy — Oh, mother ! 

Census Marshal — How much land have you ? 

Mrs. Smith — (Leaning on her broom, and pointing out 
the window) — Well, there 's the three-corn'ed lot over east, 
(pointing,) where we had turnips last year, and that one 
jining onto Job Harris's forty-acre; but that's so stunny, 
that it haint never been plowed, and he took care of Job's 
melon-patch on shares — 



176 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Sam — When they got ripe ! 

Census Marshal — Keep to your own property ! 

Mrs. Smith — That aint much ; just this 'ere house-lot ; 
the rest is mortgaged. 

Census Marshal — ( Writing and reading aloud) — Let 
me see — acre, acre-and-a-half, two acres. Well! have 
you any horses ? 

Mrs. Smith — No ! Eliphalet thinks them 's too resky 
property. 

Sam — Why, yes we have, ma ! 

Mrs. Smith — No we haint, nuther ; what do you mean? 

Sam — That old saw-horse, down in the shanty. 

( Goes to driving tacks with knife.) 

Mrs. Smith — (Approvingly) — Now, Samuel ! 

(Samanthy giggles.) 

Census Marshal — Have you any other stock ? 

Mrs. Smith — Just one load of 'em, that Farmer Bailey 
give us to feed our cow. 

Census Marshal — Then you have one cow ? 

( Writing.) 

Mrs. Smith — Who denied it ? 

Sam — And she gives such awful rich milk; ma 
always has to water it, before selling Mis' Harris any. 

Mrs. Smith — Samuel! you tell that ag'in, and I'll 
lick you within an inch of your life ! 

Census Marshal — I forgot to inquire about the chil- 
dren. Say them over, slowly, and I'll write them down. 

Mrs. Smith — (Counting on fingers very slowly) — Well, 
there's 'Liphalet, named after his father, that's one; Sa- 
manthy, named after me, is two ; Ne'amiah, but he's mar- 
ried, that's four ; Peter, he's working for Bailey, so we aint 
got to pay for him; and Desire, she's the seventh, isn't 
she ? Let me see ! 'Liphalet, named after his father ; Sa- 
manthy, named — 



STEELING DIALOGUES 177 

Census Marshal. — I don't desire you should repeat 
them ; go on ! 

Mrs. Smith — And Ne'amiah is four, and Samuel is 
five, and Sary Ann — but she's the baby, so we wont count 
her in either ; Jim and Peggy 's the twins, seven — and the 
other 's at school. 

Census Marshal — Others ! How many others ? Now 
their ages ? 

Mrs. Smith — Whose? 

Census Marshal — Oh, 'Liphalet's, Ne'amiah's, etc. 

Mrs. Smith — I wonder if I can tell ! Ebenezer is — 
(Census Marshal writes again.) Well, now, I would n't 
a-thought he was that old ; why, he was growin' on two 
when Jeff Smith — he 's his cousin — married Sophy Jones 
— she 's my cousin — and their oldest is big enough to come 
skylarkin' 'round here Sunday nights. She {pointing to 
Samanthy) is just his age, lacking six months. Next 
one 's two year older than Peter ; and he 's — 

(Pointing to Sam, ivho snatches off hat, etc.) 

Census Marshal — How old are you, Bub ? 

Sam — A whole year littler than Bill Coon ; but when 
he said as how I das n't, I just told him I was n't the man 
to take no sass, and I just at him, I did, and I '11 lick him 
more, yet. 

Samanthy — Where does he get that slang ? 

Mrs. Smith — ( To Sam) — You aint to fight no more ! 
( To Census Marshal.) Why, see here, reckon it your- 
self; he was born the May after the brindle cow killed 
herself with turnips — you see — 

Census Marshal — No, I do n't see, and I do n't want 
to ! Got any poultry ? 

Mrs. Smith — (Aside) — Tetchy, aint he ? (Aloud.) Yes, 
Samanthy writ lots of it. ( To Samanthy) Say, supposin' 
you tell him some of your pieces. 



178 STEELING DIALOGUES 

Samanthy — (Affectedly) — I only consult the muses as 
a recreation, sir, when the lambent fire burns so. brightly 
in my brain ; I have no other way of relieving my over- 
taxed mental faculties. 

Sam — I say, sis, did you ever try cold water, to put out 
the fire? 

Samanthy — Oh, that horrid boy ! 

Mrs. Smith — ( To Sam) — Stop your noise, sir ! ( To Sa- 
manthy.) Just tell over the names of some of the j:>ret- 
tiest ones. Do ! 

Samanthy — Well, there 's " The Ode to the Moon," 
and " Thou modest Violet that opes thy Eye " — 

Sam — " To every — body — passin' by ! " 

(Census Marshal laughs.) 

Samanthy — ( To Sam) — Shut up ! 

Census Marshal — I mean, hens, ducks, geese, and 
the like. 

Mrs. Smith — Oh! Well, there's three white ones, 
one black pullet, one speckled, one that 's blind, and one 
with her feet froze off. Counted 'em ? 

Sam — And two ruseters ! 

Census Marshal — Seven in all. ( Writes.) 

Enter Mrs. Harris, with shawl over her head. 

Mrs. Harris — Mis' Smith, be you goin' to take care 
of that yearlin' of your 'n, or not ? My man, he says he '11 
shut him up in the pound ! [Exit. 

Mrs. Smith — Shut him up in the pond, will he? I 
suppose she means he '11 drownd him ! He 'd better try it ! 

Sam — I tell you, he 's a beauty, all red ; the one this 
year is spotted. 

Census Marshal — I '11 put those in with the other 
stock. (Writes. Rises.) Well, madam, I believe that 
is all ; I thank you for your information. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 179 

Mrs. Smith — I 'm sure you 're welcome to all the in- 
flammation you 've got out of me. 

Census Marshal — ( Turns and snatches things, while he 
shakes and talks to Sam) — You young rascal ! {Looks for 
papers in hat.) What have you clone with my papers ? 

Sam — (Whining) — I didn't think you'd care; so I 
took 'em for the tail of my kite. 

Census Marshal — (Leaves the room, muttering) — I 'd 
" kite " you, if I were your mother ! [Exit. 

Sam — Thank my stars, you never will be my mother. 

Samanthy — Mother, will you chastise that boy, while 
I retire to revel in my accustomed flights of fancy ? 

Mrs. Smith — Do you mean lick him ? That I will ! 
[ Curtain.'] 



THE RETURNED BROTHER. 

CHARACTERS :— Washington Watson, just returned. 
John Watson, rich Brother. 
Susan Kendall, Washington's Sister. 



Scene. — A room in a hotel. Washington Watson discovered. 
Washington — Home once more ! Home from Cali- 
fornia ! When I left this place, I was young and strong ; 
now I am old and broken down ; but I have money in 
abundance. I want to end my days here. I want to rest 
in peace. I have sent for my brother and sister ; and, in 
these seedy garments, they will readily suppose that I have 
brought but little of the gold dust with me. Somebody's 
at the door, I think. ( Opens door.) 

Enter John Watson. 
Washington— I suppose you are my brother John ? 
John — Yes. (They shake hands.) I came in answer to 
the request of your messenger. 



180 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Washington — I am glad to see you. How have you 
prospered ? 

John — Oh, I have been getting along miserably. 

Washington — You wear good clothes. That's a sign 
of prosperity. Look at my clothes. 

John — Yes, I have observed them. You did not pros- 
per then, in California ? 

Washington — I lived comfortably. The climate is 
delightful. But I am an old man — several years older 
than you — and I have a desire to end my days here. 
You do not object to my taking up my abode with you ? 

John — Well — no — yes — that is. To tell the whole 
truth about the matter, Washington, my house is small, 
and I have a large family. It would not be pleasant for 
you there. 

Washington — Oh, I can get along splendidly ! I am 
fond of young folks. 

John — Yes, but you know — 

Washington — Oh, I understand. You think because 
I am old, I will make trouble in the household. But 
don't be alarmed. I am not quarrelsome. (Knock at the 
door.) My sister, I suppose. ( Opens the door.) 

Enter Mrs. Susan Kendall. 

Mrs. Kendall — (Throwing her arms around Wash- 
ington) — Oh, Washington, you have returned at last ! 
I am delighted to see you. But why did n't you come to 
our house ? Why did you stop here ? 

Washington — I thought it would be right and proper 
for me to stop here, until I had found out whether I would 
be welcome or not. 

Mrs. Kendall — Washington ! Why do you talk so ? 
Did you for a moment suppose that we would not be glad 
to see you ? 



STERLING DIALOGUES 181 

Washington — Well, I didn't know. This is a queer 
world, and those we consider very dear friends are some- 
times bitter enemies. 

Mrs. Kendall — I am surprised that you should for 
an instant suppose that we would not be very glad to see 
you. 

Washington — But you see I am poorly dressed. 
Would you care to keep me awhile at your house? 

Mrs. Kendall — Certainly, we will keep you ! Are 
you not my brother ? We are not wealthy. We have a 
large family, and my husband is a cripple; but do you, 
for a moment, suppose that I would not be glad to have 
you stay with us, as long as you please ? 

Washington — But here's my wealthy brother, John, 
who doesn't feel inclined to take me, and why should I 
thrust myself upon you ? He is rich, they say, and you 
are poor. 

John — Well, you see — Susan, you understand how it is. 
We have a large family, and our house is small, and a 
stranger coming in, is apt to cause trouble. 

Mrs. Kendall — But, John, Washington is our brother. 

John — I know, and he had as much money to start 
with as I had. If he wandered over the world, and spent 
it all, it is no fault of mine. 

Mrs. Kendall — John, I am astonished ! 

John — Are you, indeed ? 

Mrs. Kendall — You are becoming too grasping and 
avaricious. You can not take your money with you when 
you go down to the grave. 

John — Susan, it isn't necessary for you to commence 
to preach to me. I think I can attend to my own affairs. 

Washington — Yes, go forward and lay up money — 
you may need it all. 

John — And if you and Susan had been more economi- 



182 STEELING DIALOGUES 

cal, you would have been in better circumstances to-day. 
But I can 't stand here talking all day ; I have business to 
attend to. (Going.) 

Washington — You are not going to see me thrown 
out upon the cold charities of the world — you are not 
going to allow me to go to the poor-house, are you ? 

John — Susan says she will keep you. She seems to be 
seeking trouble, and if she desires to make you a member 
of her household, you shouldn't growl. "Beggars 
shouldn't be choosers," you know. 

Washington — And you will not reach out your hand 
to save me from the poor-house ? 

John — (Testily) — I don't see any use in making so 
much fuss about it. Didn't you get as much money as I? 
If you made a bad use of it — if you squandered it — you 
can not blame me. You should have taken care of your 
money. If you had done so, you would not have been 
going around now trying to sponge off your relations. 

Washington — Stop. I have heard enough. How 
much money do you suppose I have ? 

John — (Sneeringly) — Well, from your appearance, I 
should say you have twenty-five cents. 

Washington — Shrewd guesser! Well, sir, I wish to 
tell you that I have money sufficient to buy out half a 
dozen such small men as you. I have at least five hun- 
dred thousand dollars, and I am happy to say that neither 
you nor any of your family shall lay your hands on a 
penny of it. My money was not made to be handled by 
small-souled people. I wished to find out how my brother 
and sister would treat me. I am satisfied. I will make 
my home with my sister. She shall want for nothing, 
and at my death my money shall belong to her and her 
children. Good morning, most noble brother. I have 
had my say, and you can retire. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 183 

John — But, Washington, you do not consider. I ex- 
plained to you that I had a small house, and a large 
family. Of course I would like to have you stay with me. 

Washington — Susan, come. If he will not retire we 
will. {To John.) Your house has suddenly become 
larger, but the five hundred thousand dollars didn't 
make it become so ! Oh, no, of course not ! Come, Susan, 
I do not wish to hold any further conversation with him. 
[Exit Washington and Susan. 

John — Well, now, haven't I put my foot in it? Who 
would have supposed that a man dressed in that style was 
the possessor of five hundred thousand dollars ? Just my 
luck ! I declare I feel angry enough to howl. 

[Exit John. 

[ Curtain, .] 



AFTER A FASHION. 

CHARACTERS :— Mrs. Nelson. 

Mrs. Armstrong, a Caller. 
Minnie, Mrs. Armstrong's Daughter. 



Scene.— A parlor. 
Enter Mrs. Nelson, with a booh in her hand. 

Mrs. Nelson — (Solus) — There ! I 've got my morning 
work all done. I '11 just get a lunch at noon for myself, 
and then I '11 have nothing to do until John comes home 
to-night. There's some mending that ought to be done, 
and those shirts of John's must be made before long, for 
he is complaining about his old ones. But I don't know 
that I'm going to be tied up sewing all the time. I 
believe I'll hire those shirts made, and set the cost of 
their making down as household expenses. John will 



184 STERLING DIALOGUES 

never find it out. I 'm going to have one day to myself 
anyhow, to take solid comfort in. Here's this novel that 
I haven't been able to look at since yesterday forenoou, 
and I left off right in the most interesting part. And I'm 
so afraid John will find out I am reading it before I have 
finished it. Now I will sit down and enjoy myself. (Seats 
herself in a chair and opens the book.) Hark ! Did n't I 
hear a carriage stop before the house ? ( Gets up and looks 
out.) I did. And if that odious Mrs. Armstrong isn't 
getting out of it ! She's got that disgusting child of hers 
with her, and I know she's come to spend the day. Oh, 
dear ! Was there ever anything more vexatious ? Mrs. 
Armstrong herself is bad enough, but that stupid child is 
worse. I often think I am just like an old hen. I like my 
own chickens well enough, but I feel like cracking every 
other hen's chicks on the head. 

[Mrs. Armstrong knocks. Mrs. Nelson lays her 
book on the table and opens the door.~] 

Enter Mrs. Armstrong and Minnie. 

Mrs. Nelson— My dear Mrs. Armstrong! (Kisses 
her.) How glad I am to see you ! And how kind of you 
to come ! Now sit right down and let me take your bon- 
net and cloak. 

[ Offers her a chair. Mrs. Armstrong and Minnie 
sit dow7i.~\ 

Mrs. Armstrong— Oh, no, no, I can not stay long. 

Mrs. Nelson— (Aside)— Oh, I'm so glad ! (To Mrs. 
Armstrong.) Not stay long ? Why, you have come to 
spend the day with me, of course. I was so lonesome this 
morning that I did not know what to do with myself, and 
as soon as I saw you drive up, I said, now there is that 
dear delightful woman, who always knows when to do a 
kind action, come to keep me company to-day, and what a 



STERLING DIALOGUES 185 

pleasant time we shall have. Now wont you, can't you 
make up your mind to stay ? 

Mrs. Armstrong — I wish I could, you dear woman, 
but it is impossible. 

Mrs. Nelson — You don't know how disappointed I 
am ! (Aside.') It is such a relief to know I wont have to 
get dinner, and nothing in the house but a little cold meat. 
(To Mrs. Armstrong.) Well, since you ivont stay let us 
make the best of the little time we have. And how are 
you, dear? 

Mrs. Armstrong — I 'm quite well, I thank you. And 
how have you been since I saw you last ? 

Mrs. Nelson — Tolerably well. Only I am so lone- 
some. You know John leaves me at home all day, and 
the children go to school, and you never come to see me. 
And how is this little darling ? (Kisses Minnie.) 

Minnie— Very well. 

Mrs. Armstrong — Minnie, why don't you ask the 
lady how she is ? 

Minnie — Because I do n't want to know. 

Mrs. Armstrong — Oh, Minnie ! ( To Mrs. Nelson.) 
Well, you know children will be children. 

Mrs. Nelson — The dear child ! It is such a blessing 
to have children candid and truthful. If grown folks 
were only so, how much better the world would be. I 
always try to set my children an example. (Aside.) The 
little unmannerly cub ! I would soon teach her better if 
she was my child ! 

Mrs. Armstrong — Yes, Minnie is very truthful, and I 
am glad she is so. But how do you spend these long 



Mrs. Nelson — Oh, how can you ask me that, and 
yourself the mistress of a family? You must know a 
mother and housekeeper always finds plenty to do. There 
24 



186 STERLING DIALOGUES 

are always mending and making on hand, enough to more 
than fill up one's leisure moments. Just as I heard your 
carriage drive to the door, I was about to get out the mus- 
lin to make my husband some shirts. I never have one 
moment of time to rest or to improve my mind. 

Mrs. Armstrong — You poor woman ! You must not 
overwork yourself. 

Mrs. Nelson — How can I help it ? You know it is 
the lot of all women. If we 'can only make our husbands 
happy, and bring up our children to be useful members of 
society, we should never be discontented or complain. 

Mrs. Armstrong — {Takes up booh from table) — What 
is this ? Oh, I see, I hope you have not been reading it. 

Mrs. Nelson — That book? Oh, no! I wouldn't 
look at it for anything. My husband brought it home 
last night for me to read, but I told him I hadn't a 
moment of time to do so. 

Mrs. Armstrong — My husband said it wasn't a pro- 
per book at all for a woman to read, or even for a man. 

Mrs. Nelson — Is it possible ? I did n't suspect it, for 
I have n't looked into it. I wonder John brought it to me. 
But then he knows I can safely read anything, for my 
principles are so firmly fixed. How happy a woman 
should be when her husband can trust her ! Well, I 'm 
glad you told me, for if I had found a little time after my 
sewing was done, I might have turned over a few pages. 
And though my husband is so careless, I think women 
can not be too particular what they read. 

Mrs. Armstrong — Yes, so I think. But really, I must 
be going. 

Mrs. Nelson — Don't think of it. You haven't stayed 
any time yet. 

Mrs. Armstrong — (Rising) — But I must, indeed I 
wish I could stay longer. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 187 

Mrs. Nelson — Well, if you must go, I can't compel 
you to stay. But do come soon and spend the entire day 
with me. You know there is nobody whom I am so glad 
to see as yourself. And you must be sure to bring this 
little darling with you. 

Mrs. Armstrong — Well, do come and see me, my dear 
Mrs. Nelson. 

Mrs. Nelson — I will certainly, if I can ever spare the 
time from my work. (They kiss.) 

Mrs. Armstrong — Good morning. 

Mrs. Nelson — Good morning, dear. (Exit Mrs. 
Armstrong and Minnie.) There, she's gone at last, 
and I 'm so glad. The mean, spying thing ! She thought 
she had caught me on that novel, but I don't think she 
found out much. If she waits until I want to see her be- 
fore she comes again, she will be old and gray. My 
whole morning has been wasted with her call. So now I 
will go and take my lunch, and then make another 
attempt to sit down and finish the book before John 
comes home and discovers me reading it. 

[Exit Mrs. Nelson 

[ Curtain.'] 



188 STERLING DIALOGUES 



A FRIGHTENED LODGER. 



CHARACTERS :— Hezekiah Scruggins. 
Alexander Addison. 
Pat Mulravey. 
Landlord. 



Scene. — Room in a Hotel. 

Enter Hezekiah. 

Hez. — Wall, I 'spose I'll hev tew stop here and stay 
over night. This ain't much of a room, neither, tew 
put sich a feller as Hezekiah Scruggins intew. The 
landlord sez as heow they are awfully crowded, and 
if another feller should happen tew come, I s'pose he'd 
chuck him in along o' me. Neow I'd rayther not hev 
a companyun on the present occasion, but I reckon 
ef anybody comes in it will hev tew be endoored. I 
'most wish I hadn't come tew this big agerculteral fair. 
It ain't nothin' but push and scrouge from mornin' 
till night. (Sits doivn.) I'm most tarnation tired. I've 
been a trampin' reound all this blessed day, and 
haven't seen nothin' of much acceount neither. I 
wish I was tew hum. If I know myself I'll strike 
eout fur that same hum to-morrow evenin'. (Noise out- 
side.) Hullo ! thar's a trampin' at the door. I 'spose 
my pardner is a comin'. If I am tew have a compan- 
yun, I hope he'll be a respectable-lookin' feller. (Door 
is opened, and Landlord ushers in Alexander Addi- 
son. Hezekiah rises. Exit Landlord.) 

Alex. — Well, my friend, it seems that we are to 
lodge together to-night. 

Hez. — -Yaas, so it seems. This ain't an awful good 



STERLING DIALOGUES 189 

room, but I reckon we'll hev tew put up with it, seem 
as heow all the houses are so much crowded. 

Alex. — I feel very tired, and shall sit down to rest. 
Be seated, my friend ; don't let my coming disturb you. 

Hez. — No, yeou ain't disturbin' me, not in the least. 
(Aside.) That feller's got a quare look abeout him. 
I'm mighty 'fraid thar's somethin' wrong. 

Alex.— Why don't you sit down and make yourself 
comfortable? If you have travelled around as much 
as I have to-day you certainly feel like resting. 

Hez. — I guess I'll step reound a spell; I don't feel 
like sittin'. (Aside.) By thunder, I believe that's the 
crazy man that is a runnin' areound. He answers tew 
the description. 

Alex. — (Goes to door and locks it) — I guess I'll shut 
out all intruders. That money-loving landlord would 
likely crowd a couple more into this room if they 
should ask for lodging. Well, we are bosses now, Mr. 
I forgot to ask your name. 

Hez. — My name is Hezekiah Scruggins, at yeour 
sarvice. 

Alex. — And mine is Alexander Addison. 

Hez. — (Aside) — Good gracious ! I don't know what 
on airth I'll dew. But I must git eout o' this. It '11 
never dew tew stay here. He has locked the door, and 
one of his crazy spells will come on soon. By gosh, I 
don't know what's tew be done. I am in the third 
story, and can't jump eout of a window — no sir! that 
might make a finish of me. But I must do somethin' 
soon. What an ugly eye he has ! 

Alex. — (Aside) — That's a rascally-looking fellow. 
He doesn't seem inclined to talk, and he goes around 
as if he wanted to do something desperate. I really 
think he is a robber or a pickpocket. They say there 



190 STERLING DIALOGUES 

were plenty of them on the fair-grounds to-day. I 
wish I was out of this. 

Hez. — (Aside) — I guess as heow I'll holler. I'm 
most afeared tew dew so, tew, fur he would immedi- 
ately spring upon me. (To Alex.) Yeou'd better unlock 
that door agin, hadn't yeou ? 

Alex. — And why should I unlock the door ? 

Hez. — (In a frightened tone) — I — I — guess I'll — go 
deown stairs agin. 

Alex. — All right, you can go. Will you come back? 
(As Alexander goes to unlock the door he passes close to 
Hezekiah, who thinks he is trying to catch hold of him. 
Hez. jumps to one side and shouts :) 

Hez. — Murder! murder! 

Alex. — (Aside) — That's a pickpocket ; I feel certain 
of it. He is trying to get up an excitement for the 
purpose of robbing somebody. (Advancing toivards 
Hez.) I know your true character, sir, and I have a 
good mind to knock you down. 

Hez. — It's coming on ! It's coming on ! Oh, what 
will I dew ? Good gracious ! what'll- 1 dew ? 

Alex. — None of your nonsense, now ; I understand 
you, and if you raise any more noise I'll give you a 
beating. 

Hez. — (Shouting) — Oh, gracious ! let me eout ! Land- 
lord ! Landlord ! 

Alex. — Stop your noise, I say. You are a pick- 
pocket ; I know you are, and I'll have you arrested if 
you don't clear out. 

Hez. — Oh, he's gittin' wusser and wusser ! I wish I 
had stayed to hum. (Knock at door. Opened by Alex. 
Enter Landlord and others.) 

Landlord — What's the meaning of this rumpus ? 

Hez. — Yeon've put a crazy man in here with me. 



STERLING DIALOGUES 191 

It is awful. I'm scared tew death. He has tried to 
ketch me. Oh, it is dreadful ! 

Alex. — There's not a word of truth in that, and he 
knows it. I am aware of his true character. He is 
one of the many pickpockets that were on the fair- 
grounds to-day. Look out for your pockets ! He is 
only trying to get up an excitement to get a crowd 
gathered around. 

Hez. — That's allers the way crazy people talk. I 
read abeout him in the papers, and I've hearn people 
talk abeout him, and he answers tew the description 
exactly. I tell yeou, yeou'd better look eout. He may 
do a great deal of mischief. 

Alex. — (To Landlord) — Don't mind him, he is 
frightened about nothing. I doubt not you have 
heard of me. My name is Alexander Addison, and I 
flatter myself that I do not act very much like a mad- 
man. 

Landlord — {To Hez.) — My friend, I think you have 
become frightened unnecessarily. And (To Alex.) I 
think you wrong the gentleman when you accuse him 
of being a pickpocket. My advice is, make friends 
again, and sit down and rest yourselves. 

Alex. — No, sir ; I do not choose to room with a man 
who has insulted me by saying that I look like a crazy 
person. I'll sleep in the street first. 

Hez. — Wall, I don't keer where yeou sleep, but I'm 
mighty sartin yeou'll not sleep with me. Yeou may 
be all right abeout the upper story, but I doubt it the 
blamedest. 

Alex. — Be careful, greeny, or I'll knock you down. 

Hez. — There ! I told yeou he warn't square ; the fit's 
comin' on agin. Better git him away as quick as 
possible. 10 

2n* 



192 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Alex. — Dunce ! I will go. I don't wish to be in 
the same house with such a.scarey youth. 

Landlord — Stay, I think I can accommodate you. 
And (To Pat Mulravey, who came in with the Land- 
lord) stranger, as you wanted lodging, I think I can 
accommodate you, too. (To Hez.) This gentleman 
came in a few minutes ago. I will let him room with 
you to-night, and I hope you will get along smoothly. 

Hez. — (Aside) — He's a rough -looking customer. (To 
Landlord.) I'll try and endoor him. 

Pat — What's that ye say, ye blackguard ? Endoor 
me ! Be the howly St. Patrick, I giss I'll have to do 
all the endoorin. Ye'r a mighty outspoken chap, 
onyhow, and I've a mind to give ye a tap on the nose 
jist to bring ye to yer sinsis. 

Hez. — I beg yeour parding, sir ; it was a mere slip 
of the tongue. 

Pat — Well, be mighty careful not to let yer tongue 
slip again or be the powers I'll give it a twist that will 
sthop it av slippin'. 

Landlord — It seems that you can get along together, 
and so I will leave you. 

Pat — Niver fear about that, Mr. Landlord ; we'll git 
along first rate. This is a nice enough feller, on'y a 
little scarey about crazy people. 

[Exit Landlord, Alexander, and others. 

Pat — (Aside) — Be the powers, I'll give him a scare 
worth talkin about. I'll act the crazy man a dale of a 
sight better 'n that other feller did, and if I don't scare 
him right, thin my name isn't Pat Mulravey. (To 
Hez.) Me name is Pat Mulravey. And what is your 
name ? 

Hez. — Hezekiah Scruggins, at yeour sarvice, sir. 

Pat — Hezekiah Scruggins, at ye'r sarvice, sir ! Well, 



STEELING DIALOGUES 193 

that's a mighty long name. I'll call ye Scrooggins for 
short. Yez thought that was a crazy feller, didn't 
yez? 

Hez. — Yaas, I had hearn tell that thar was a crazy 
man loose, and I had read abeout him, and as the 
feller answered tew the description I thought he must 
be the one. 

Pat — Faix, I am the crazy feller — I im that, mesilf. 
I am as crazy as iver Nickey Mulrooney was. Nickey 
Mulrooney lived in the town av Cork and was a broth 
av a boy. 

Hez. — Pooh ! Yeou air tryin tew frighten me. I 
rayther guess I'll not be so much alarmed ag'in. 

Pat — (Aside) — I'll fetch him yet, see if I don't. (To 
Hez.) I'm a rale pacible b'y until the spill comes 
upon me and thin I git mighty obstepeevious. 

Hez. — Obstepeevious ! what is that ? 

Pat — I'll tell ye, sir. Whin a b'y gits obstepeevious 
he can do most onything ; he can fight, run, jump, 
knock fellers down and tear round like the very old 
Nick. I am an Irishman, sir. 

Hez. — I supposed yeou were. The Irish air a clever 
people. 

Pat — Faix, and ye'r right there, and they're a 
mighty smashin set too whin they get into the smashin 
humor. That crazy Nickey Mulrooney I was tellin 
yez of, he could fling four or five b'ys out av a third 
story windy before breakfast in the marnin, and make 
nothin av it, sir. And I tell ye he made things sthand 
around whin he got into a bit av a shindy. Be the 
powers, I feel mesilf gittin a little obstepeevious whin 
I think about it, and I've a kind of a notion jist to thry 
and show ye how he made things jingle whin the 
sphell was on him. 



194 STERLING DIALOGUES 

Hez. — Oh, Mr. Mulravey, yeou needn't dew that ! I'll 
take yeour word for it. (A side.) Good gracious! I 
believe he is a crazy man. But I don't like to run 
away. Jemimy Wiggins allers said I was a skeery 
feller, but I'll try and be brave on this occasion ; I'll 
stand and face the danger. 

Pat — Be the powers, that snakin landlord shan't git 
in here any more. He's an ugly blackguard, onyhow, 
and I'll kape him from sthickin his nose into this 
place. 

Hez. — Oh, dear ! he has locked the door. I wonder 
if he isn't only tryin tew frighten me. But he looks 
desp'rit. (To Pat.) Why did yeou lock the door, Mr. 
Mulravey ? 

Pat — That oogly landlord shan't coom a walkin in 
here jist whiniver we git up a little breeze. I'll larn him 
better than to do that. Faix, and I will. You and me 
may have a bit av a shindy soon and it'll be betther 
to kape that blackguard av a landlord on the outside. 
Don't ye think so, Mr. Scrooggins ? 

Hez. — Wall, neow, tew tell yeou the truth abeout the 
matter, Mr. Mulravey, I'd prefer to have the door un- 
locked. 

Pat — And I'd prefer to have it locked, and shure that's 
jist where we differ, Misther Scrooggins. I feel about 
as sthrong as a forty horse ingine and I giss I'll be boss 
on this occasion. (Pat gets up on a chair and crows like 
a rooster.) Whoop ! This is better than Donnybrook 
fair. This is the bist fair I've been at in the whole 
blissid counthry. (Shouts.) Hurra! I want to knock 
somebody down. Hurra for a bit av a shindy ! 

Hez. — (Aside) — Oh, gracious ! he must be crazy ! I 
wish Mr. Addison had stayed here. 

Pat — Come here, me darlint. Let us have a bit av 
a jig. Ain't yez a thripper ? 



STERLING DIALOGUES 195 

Hez. — No, no ; keep off! I don't want yeou tew touch 
me. Go and dance by yeourself. 

Pat — Faix, an' I can't do that. It's agin the natur 
of the Mulraveys to dance alone whin there's a foine- 
lookin famale about. Come, Miss Scrooggins, let us 
have a dance. 

Hez. — Oh, no, no ! Keep off or I'll shout. 

Pat — Shout! An what good will shoutin do, I'd 
like to know. Faix, the landlord is down in the first 
sthory and ye might yill for an hour and he wouldn't 
hear anything at all, at all. 

Hez. — I'll burst the door open if yeou don't stop 
bothering me. 

Pat — Burst the door open ! Ye blackguard, ye can't 
do that while I've got an arrum on me neck and a 
head on me sho wider. Shure I could knock ye into 
the middle of Janewary afore ye'd know what I was 
about. 

Hez. — (Aside) — Oh, if I was eout of this scrape I'd 
start for hum on the double quick. (To Pat.) Can't 
yeou sit deown for a while ? I am tired and I think yeou 
ought tew be too. 

Pat — Be two ! Be me sowl, it's as much as I can do 
to be one. But if ye bees tired, Mr. Scrooggins, sit 
down and I'll sit on top av yez. There is only one 
substantial chair an' I wouldn't be mindin me manners 
if I'd sit on it and let ye squat on the flure by yersilf. 
(In a loud voice.) Sit down, Mr. Scrooggins, sit down. 
D'ye mind me now? Bedad if yez don't sit down I'll 
sthrike ye a lick abowt the middle and knock ye clane 
out av the windy. 

Hez. — (Sits on floor) — Wall, I'll sit deown to accom- 
modate yeou. I hope yeou'll be quiet neow. 

Pat — (Aside) — Faix, I've got him purty badly scared. 



196 STEELING DIALOGUES 

I giss I'd betther boost him up a little and give him a 
run around the ring. (To Hez.) Mr. Scrooggins, git 
up. Yez has got to act " Black Hawk " and I'll be 
" Mazeppa " and we'll tear round the track jist as the 
horses did to-day at the fair. Won't that be fun ? 

Hez. — (Aside) — Oh, how crazy he is ! But he doesn't 
seem disposed tew dew anything desp'rit, and so I had 
better humor him. (Gets up.) 

Pat — Now, thin, Mr. Scrooggins, yez may run once 
around the track, thin I'll set in and go it like lightnin. 
I giss it would be betther, Mr. Scrooggins, for ye to 
purtind to be ridin the Black Hawk horse, and I'll be 
ridin Mazeppa, and thin we can holler at thim and 
lick thim up and make thim sthreak it. Won't that 
be betther, Mr. Scrooggins ? 

Hez. — Yes, anything to please yeou, Mr. Mulravey. 
But hadn't yeou better unlock the door before yeou 
commence ? 

Pat — Unlock the door, ye spalpeen ? No, sir ; don't 
ye know the horses might run out av the ring if the 
door was open? Bedad an I don't want the horses to 
git away. Now, Mr. Scrooggins, ye are to ride Black 
Hawk. Git on and make him go his bist, and I'll be 
afther ye in a twinklin. I'll give yez the word. Go ! 
(Hezekiah commences to run around the room. Pat stands 
in the centre and shouts.) He'p ! Hi ! Git ! Faster, ye 
lazy ould blackguard ! Go it, now ! Bedad, ye can't 
trot worth a chit. (Hezekiah after running a few times 
round the room stops almost out of breath.) 

Hez. — I thought yeou was a goin tew ride a hoss 
tew. 

Pat — An so I am, me darlint. But I want to git 
ould Black Hawk perty well run down afore I set in. 
Now go it again. (Pat shouts. Hezekiah commences 



STERLING DIALOGUES 197 

to run again.) Git up, Black Hawk, ye lazy ould black- 
guard ! H'ep ! Hi ! Git along ! Go it ! Limber out, ye stiff 
ould spalpeen ! Mr. Scrooggins, ye must holler at yer 
horse and purtind to be a lickin him. (Hezekiah 
shouts and motions as if whipping his horse.) 

Hez. — Hi ! Git eout ! Wake up, Black Hawk ! G'lang ? 

Pat — Now, old Mazeppa, we'll go in. (Follows after 
Hezekiah, shouting) Hi ! Go it, ye blackguard ! He'p ! 
Hi ! Git along ! Be jabers this is the biggest kind o' 
fun ! Hi ! Go it, Scrooggins ! I'm gainin on yez ! Hi ! Git 
along, Scrooggins ! (Nsise at door.) 

Landlord — (Speaks outside) — What is the meaning 
of all this noise ? Open the door. 

Pat — Don't mind him, Scrooggins. (They continue 
running.) Hi ! Git along there, ye blackguard ! Hi ! 
Ho ! Ye'r comin in on the home-stretch now. Hi ! 

Landlord — (Shouting) — Open the door, I say; open 
it instantly ! 

Pat — Scrooggins, go it! Ye'r ould Black Hawk is 
givin out. Go it! Hi! Be the powers I'm going to 
win the race. Hi ! 

Landlord — (Shouts again) — Open the door, I say, or 
I'll have you arrested. (They stop running.) 

Pat — Scrooggins, darlint, the people bees comin to 
see the race. We'll let them in an thin we'll go it 
again. (Goes to open the door.) 

Hez. — (Comes to front of stage) — Oh, gracious! Oh, 
dear ! I'm clean run deown. (Panting.) I'm all eout of 
breath. Oh, dear ! (Pat opens door. Enter Landlord.) 

Landlord — What is the meaning of all this noise ? 
You have alarmed the whole house. 

Pat — Faix, we've been havin a jolly time ; it wint 
ahead av Donnybrook fair. Me and Scrooggins has 
been ridin around the ring. He rid Black Hawk and I 



198 STERLING DIALOGUES 

rid Mazeppa. Oh, how we did make thim horses spin. 
We were jist comin in on the home-stretch. I tell yez, 
that Mazeppa is a darlint ! 

Landlord — Well, sir, I don't choose to have my 
room changed into a race-course. One of you must 
leave. 

Hez. — (Still panting) — I'll go ! I'll go ! I wouldn't 
stay here over night for a thousand dollars — by hokey, 
I wouldn't ! 

Pat — (Aside) — Be jabers, ould Black Hawk's about 
give out. (To Hez.) Me darlint, I'd like ye'd sthay. 
Ye are a spinner to run, and I'd like to see ye go it 
again. 

Hez. — No ! no ! I'll not stay ! I'd as leave stay in 
a lunatic asylum. (To Landlord.) Better look eout 
for him; he's a rail crazy tick. 

[Exit Hezekiah. 

Pat — (To Landlord) — Be jabers, that's a badly 
scared b'y. He thought that other man was a mad- 
man, and I took a notion I'd be afther showin him 
what a rale madman was. 

Landlord — Yes, and you have aroused all my 
lodgers. But I'll forgive you if you go to bed and keep 
quiet the rest of the night. 

Pat — Faix, and I'll do that, fur I'm mighty tired 
after batin old Sweepstakes. 

[Exit Landlord. 
[Curtain.] 



Good=Humor 




Reading and Recitation 

By Henry Firth Wood 
Humorist and Reciter 
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S Supper and Sociable 
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The Temple of Fame 

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Quaker Meeting and Socs 

able 
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